


Fractured

by CharlieNozaki, LeoBeLike



Category: One Piece
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Corruption, Drama, Eventual Romance, Gen, M/M, Post-War, Slow Burn, Survival, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-01-25 22:25:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12542584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieNozaki/pseuds/CharlieNozaki, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeoBeLike/pseuds/LeoBeLike
Summary: There are five divided factions in the post-war world. Two of them are set to collide when a desperate cook chooses the wrong bunker to raid.[A collab between LeoBeLike and CharlieNozaki].(Dystopian AU. ZoSan. Slow burn. Includes artwork).





	1. Desperation

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a collaboration between LeoBeLike and CharlieNozaki. We are both excited to show you our dystopian fanfic. :D It was so much fun starting off and we hope you all like it! Enjoy!

* * *

Heart pounding, Zoro slid under a charred car, carefully placing his finger on the trigger of his pistol, steadily pressing the weapon against his chest.

Letting out a shaky breath, he squeezed his eyes shut, only for a second before the sound of multiple combat boots crunching leisurely against the rubbled ground stilled his movements instantly.

He didn't dare move a fucking inch.

His eyes followed them as they rounded the left side of the vehicle, before continuing onwards.

Then it was quiet.

When he was sure he heard no more steps, his right arm grabbed the back bumper of the car, and swiftly pulled himself out, only to hide once more, this time behind the car.

With caution, he peeked over his right side, his head raising only slightly when he was immediately met with the strong smell of copper as a bullet flew past his face, only missing him by a few mere inches.

Soon after, he was bombarded with bullets, some violently hitting the vehicle while others ricocheted off the garbage cans displayed out in front of him, slight sparks shining through the dark as they did so.

Cocking his pistol, he quickly rested his arms on the back trunk of the car, aimed, and fired twice, only to go back down once more. The grunt of a man filled the air, soon followed by a thud.

This was utterly _pointless._ There were fucking too many of them. He estimated maybe around five, and he was only able to shoot down one without getting beheaded.

“Where the _hell_ is Luffy?” he gritted to himself.

Thinking of the only option, he pulled out a smoke grenade, specifically made by Usopp, from his pants pocket. He pulled out the pin with his teeth and threw it behind him.

Right away, curses and coughs filled the small alleyway and Zoro took the chance to run and head towards the middle of the destroyed remains of the city. The city that was once known as East Blue.

The city where Zoro was born and raised.

He turned towards another alley he easily recognized and lifted himself to the roof of a building, using a broken, out-of-place pipe as leverage.

The idiot had gone and run off on his own, once again.

Zoro did trust him to handle things, even by himself, but they had been apart for some time now, and this raid was taking much longer than necessary.

Despite getting a few feet higher, he still saw, or rather, _heard_ no sign of his long-time friend.

Until, in the distance, faint sounds of gunshots filled Zoro’s ears, turning his direction of sight towards the noise.

Close enough to the final rooftop, he landed, looked down, and was met with Luffy, who was in the midst of fighting four Gatecrashers. He was rapidly switching his kicks and punches between all of them, receiving a few in return.

Knowing the man didn’t need his help, but still desperate to get out there quickly, Zoro sped into action and flipped himself off the roof, landing straight on his feet in front of the group. 

They’d been there for too long, and surely more Gatecrashers were to come.

Throwing a fearsome punch, his right fist connected with one of their jaws, sending the man to the ground. Predictably, the rest noticed him and attacked as well.

Zoro and Luffy both smirked at one another, and in less than three minutes, the four Gatecrashers were all unconscious. Not only that, but severely beaten up.

“We gotta go, Luffy. Now. We didn’t get the medicine in time. It’s better to go back than to die here. We’ll get ambushed by more Gatecrashers,” Zoro muttered with disappointment.

Luffy only grinned at him.

“What?” Zoro asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Got it.”

Luffy pulled off his rucksack, unzipping it to reveal four gray containers that Zoro had definitely seen before.

He opened one and, sure enough, there were bottles and packages of antipyretics, analgesics, and antibiotics. All the medicine Chopper asked for was inside.

“Shit,” Zoro breathed. “Let’s go.”

Putting the container back inside his backpack, the two made their way to the jeep.

In they climbed, Luffy grabbing a bar on top of the vehicle and swinging himself in, slamming the door without care.

The sound echoed in the empty street like another deafening gunshot, reverberating off crumbling buildings, rattling a few loose windows in the drug store opposite the jeep.

“Really? I just fucking said we’re gonna get ambushed,” Zoro grumbled to himself, automatically scanning the sidewalk for any adversaries drawn forth by the noise, experienced eyes flicking to a few dark alleyways warily.

He looked for any sign of a flickering shadow, listened for any disturbance---pebbles skittering, a gun cocking, a fucking _breath_ that would give away an attacker.

Nothing, save for the defeated men lying like ragdolls over uneven pavement, their weapons scattered, the only indication of life within them the slight movement of their chests, barely visible in the brightening moonlight.

Zoro watched them for a long moment, wondering, briefly, if he should finish the job, if he should lift the pistol still in his hand, snuff them out while he had the chance. If he didn’t, they’d just get up again. Cockroaches, those Gatecrashers, threats to his faction.

It wasn’t their fault, the logical part of him knew, fingers brushing delicately over metal as he studied the barrel of his prized pistol, a white one, with angular silver accents on the butt.

It wasn’t their fault. They weren’t part of the Government. They’d simply been ordinary people like him, like everyone, leading ordinary lives.

But that had been thirteen years ago. And now they weren’t ordinary people. They were desperate, trying to survive, just as they all were. But when Chopper needed medicine, and those thugs readily stood in his way? They were no longer survivors. They were expendable.

He wasn’t a boy anymore.

Zoro lifted the gun, lining up his shot.

The pistol always settled so nicely in his hand. It felt natural to hold, an extension of his arm as he aimed at the first unfortunate man, lying a few feet away, bisecting a faded yellow traffic line, his tattered superhero T-shirt on display, a graphic of a shield over his chest giving Zoro the perfect target.

He cocked the pistol, stared solemnly at his victim, index finger just beginning to twitch back.

The car door behind him thumped loudly, a muffled voice coming through the window a second later.

_“Zoro, come on, I’m hungry!”_

Zoro closed his eyes for a moment, let out a breath through his nose, then opened eyes again and refocused himself on his task.

Two more thumps and a splat.

His eyebrow twitched, long and hard.

_“Zoroooo!”_

He was weak. He turned slowly, just to shoot a glare over his shoulder, only to see Luffy leaning across the car’s interior with his face and hands smooshed stupidly against the driver’s side window.

As soon as Zoro looked, Luffy grinned, breath fogging up the glass.

 _“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”_ the idiot insisted, rocking the jeep with his movements when he thumped insistently on the window again.

Zoro made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, dropping his head back to the sky for a moment before ultimately holstering his pistol again onto his belt, right next to the other two he carried.

He crossed the short distance between him and the jeep, ratty combat boots scuffing in the dirty street before he ripped open the door and shoved Luffy back into the passenger seat.

“You want them to come after us or what, idiot! They’ve been trying to push through our gates for months now! And if you wake ‘em all up, I swear to fuck...” Zoro hissed, as if the gunshots wouldn’t have, though he was already pulling the door shut, fishing keys out of his vest pocket and jamming them into the ignition.

He pulled off his black bandana to reveal sweaty green hair, used it to wipe his brow, then snapped the fabric at Luffy’s face scoldingly before stuffing it in his pocket where the keys had been.

“Eh, they’re knocked out good. They won’t wake up ‘till we’re real far away~” Luffy justified with a grin that practically radiated its own moonlight. “Anyway, music, music, music!”

More chanting, to Zoro’s dismay, though this time, he rolled his eyes, throwing an arm behind Luffy’s seat and looking over his shoulder so he could start to back the jeep off the sidewalk where he’d parked it rather haphazardly.

“The radio’s shot, remember? And do I look like I got CDs?” he grumbled, throwing the jeep back into ‘Drive’ once they were far enough away from the dented newspaper box he’d knocked over pulling in. Papers littered the sidewalk, but it wasn’t like anyone was reading them now. They were over a decade old, after all.

“Hnnn….” Luffy whined, looking half his age of twenty-one when he crossed arms, buried deeply in his oversized hoodie, over his chest and pouted….for but a second, before he brightened. “Well, that’s okay! Zoro, let’s sing!”

_“Hell no!”_

* * *

Zoro had enforced the quiet game after a barely tolerable five minutes of melody-free squawking beside him. He had to watch the road for Gatecrashers in their path, and thus, he needed to _focus_ if he was going to get them out of this godforsaken city and back to Emerald Peak in one piece.

It was strange, and a little eerie, that he remembered this place so well, remembered that the dilapidated marble-faced building on the corner, with the broken stone steps and the hacked-in door, was the old post office.

He only knew that because every time his parents ran an errand there, dragged him along, he’d snuck outside and had a staring contest with the cats in the pet store window next door. The owner, Gaimon, had tried to scare him on numerous occasions by sticking his own ugly mug in the window instead, his afro big and bushy.

The pet store sat vacant too now, windows shattered, shelves toppled, its sign hanging forlornly off its hinges.

He didn’t look as he drove past. And he didn’t allow himself to wonder, as he often did, about what had happened to that ridiculous man.

Every abandoned business he passed on that main street had been familiar and thriving once. Every house had been occupied, the streets clean and the air breezy, bringing with it the faint salt of the ocean that was a short drive away.

Now, it was the earth, not the sea, that was prevalent, seeping its way through every crevice. The jeep’s tires flattened countless tufts of tall weeds springing from the cracks in the road. Vines covered entire sides of buildings; trees, once uniform along residential streets, now stretched their branches through windows, created mountains out of flat sidewalks with their roots.

This was the home he remembered. But this was not the same home he’d left.

In fact, it was easier to leave behind now, to focus only on the short reach of his headlights, shining a triangle of light that glinted off broken glass and discarded hubcaps.

There was still yet a hint of purplish pink in the sky, black buildings rising up beneath it, and maybe, if he squinted, it was how it used to be. Only silhouettes. Only stencils that revealed none of the decay that had so transformed the city.

But it was too dark. There were no welcoming lights, no signs of life. Just the moon lifting itself into the sky and Zoro’s spirits sinking lower the closer they got to his old neighborhood.

Luffy seemed to read his mind, sense the tension that came to his hands, gripped tightly on the steering wheel, when they started to pass older, more traditional buildings, many of which were entirely crumbled, not having withstood the test of time.

“Wanna drive through Shimotsuki?” his friend asked, his voice quite serious in comparison to his jokes of earlier.

Zoro could feel brown eyes watching him, see a hint of blue, the dashboard light illuminating Luffy’s face.

He shook his head, gaze fixed in front of him, so he wouldn’t look down Isshin Street by accident, catch a glimpse of his childhood, even in the growing darkness.

“No,” he said. Eyes he finally flicked to Luffy briefly. “Foosha?”

Luffy too shook his head.

“I went earlier. Before this,” he said with a shrug, nudging his rucksack in his lap, full of the parcels for Chopper.

Zoro grunted his acknowledgment.

The sooner they could get out of the city, the better. They were good on gas. Franky had stocked them up with extra tanks in the back trunk, but with only an hour’s journey back to their camp, they’d be fine.

The buildings were beginning to thin, revealing glimpses of the looming hills in the distance, twisted road signs turning into overgrown trees as he finally swung the jeep around the giant loop that led to the highway, weaving around abandoned cars left to rust in the middle of lanes.

“We still playing the quiet game?” Luffy asked, seemingly fed up with any amount of silence that lasted more than ten seconds.

“Yeah,” Zoro replied, maneuvering off the ramp, around an overturned pick-up truck, before flooring it once they had a clear shot of road ahead. Neither of them wore seatbelts. Who would scold them? “But you already lost. You owe me three rations cards when we get back.” 

Luffy balked, turning in his seat sideways to gape at his friend.

“But Zoro, that’s a hamburger _with_ ketchup and a bun!” he complained, flailing arms needlessly in despair. “Don’t you already owe ten to Nami?”

“Exactly,” Zoro huffed, reaching his hand out to poke Luffy’s forehead, just for the hell of it. “I got a debt to pay.”

Luffy grinned, catching his hand and examining it for a second.

“You’re such an idiot~” the younger man eventually chirped before deciding he wanted to arm wrestle his friend while he drove, slamming Zoro’s elbow down onto the armrest between them.

Zoro didn’t protest, and he didn’t crash the car either.

He was their Leader, and he couldn’t lose to anyone, not even Luffy, the one who came closest to matching his strength. He managed it often. He certainly had when they were young.

Still, Zoro resisted a smirk when his hand was pinned to the armrest by Luffy’s, the other man giving a crow of triumph, rolling down the window to do the same out into the night air, letting nothing but the plants and animals know of his victory.

But then again, maybe Zoro was okay with letting him win sometimes.

* * *

He wasn't sure what time it was when they got back to Emerald Peak, but considering it was deadly quiet, Zoro figured it was past twelve, the hour the people of his faction officially decided was the proper time to head to bed.

Faintly, as he drove closer, he could see the light from the watchtower illuminating the edifice, the place he now considered his home. This meant someone was taking watch, making sure no intruders were to even step foot near Emerald Peak.

It had to be Usopp.

Usopp handled the job of keeping watch in the tower, more times than not. He was the one Zoro trusted most with the task, because he was considered the sniper of their faction, who always had perfect aim, never missing his target.

He mainly held position during the night, because despite the area being shrouded in complete darkness, he had the capacity to shoot a lurking trespasser down instantly with ease, something that the rest of the faction couldn’t do.

Expecting their return, the long-nosed man made no move to sound the alarm that signaled everyone if their faction was being intruded. This let Zoro easily drive closer and closer to the entrance of the gate.

The man glanced to his right. A sleeping Luffy sat there, head hanging loosely in front of him, mouth open and drooling. He had gotten used to the sight of Luffy sleeping messily. The boy was constantly falling asleep, even in the middle of a meal.

“Tch,” he grunted, rolling down his window to give Usopp the signal, and after a few seconds, the entrance raised slowly. He drove on, the road he followed leading him to the parking where all the remaining vehicles were stationed.

After turning off the ignition, he exited the car, shutting the door, not too loudly, and made his way to the passenger side of the jeep. Raising his left arm and placing it on the roof, he opened Luffy’s door with his right.

“Oi, Luffy. We’re here.”

Giving him a slight shake, he grabbed the rucksack containing the medicine off his lap and hauled it over his shoulder.

Luffy only mumbled and yawned.

With that, he left the door open and left the man to wake up on his own, knowing he’d eventually head towards the kitchen.

Emerald Peak was one of five factions that was created a few years after the tragedy of the world happened. Everyone was divided and trusted no one except the people from their own division.

Some factions were closer than others. A short distance up north from Emerald Peak, was Raven Outlaw, a faction they used to raid frequently, but Trafalgar D. Law, the Leader of the encampment, was able to negotiate Zoro into becoming allies.

Since then, the two allied factions often traded their supplies, Law’s faction providing Zoro’s with tools to fix broken-down vehicles and weapons, while, in return, Zoro bestowed him with boxes of food.

Although, Raven Outlaw wasn’t the closest settlement to Zoro’s faction.

By jeep, the closest faction to Zoro’s was Obsidian Shadow. It was known to be the most dangerous and most difficult faction to raid, due to their supply of weaponry.

Because of their massive stash, they had never been willing to accommodate compromises with any faction.

While Emerald Peak was surrounded with a tall, wooden gate, Obsidian Shadow was completely exposed, no protection blockading the building.

It was made of concrete walls, only on-duty guards encircling the large property. Because of the exposure, it made it easy to spot any incoming intruders.

The remaining two factions, “White Amnesty,” and “Crimson Void,” however, were the type of factions no one had a problem with, although there still was a difference between the two.

Rayleigh was the commander of White Amnesty. He was well known for his calmness and ability to negotiate with any of the factions. He’d conciliated Zoro in the past as well.

Shanks matched Rayleigh in that particular trait. Despite being the leader of Crimson Void, a rather strong and menacing faction, he was a likable man, but if someone were to ever cross him, he’d shut them down in an instant.

Then there were those who were ruthless, the group that chose not to be called a faction, that killed for their own sick pleasure. Gatecrashers.

Blackbeard was known as the person in charge. He never went out on raids himself, but instead had his men do the dirty work for him. They preferred to be stationed in the ruins of East Blue, therefore making it difficult to try and steal supplies from them, because of their large numbers.

Invading them was rather risky, but they obtained the most crucial supplies they occasionally needed.

This was how things were now, to steal, to fight, to invade, to kill. All had to be done in order to survive.

Knuckles tapping on soft wood was all that could be heard through the desolate hallway, as Zoro peeked into the room.

As anticipated, Chopper was in his office, wide awake. He was always like this, working hard, isolated in his thoughts, never permitting himself to enjoy the world outside of medicine.

The man, hair brown and curly, sat quietly at his desk, still wearing his doctor’s coat as he scribbled away in his notebook, Zoro entering unnoticed.

“Hey, Chopper,” he greeted, making said man look up and stand abruptly.

“Zoro! I’m glad to see you’re back safely. Are you injured anywhere? Where’s Luffy?” he questioned desperately, switching between looking over Zoro’s body---almost expecting to see him with a broken arm or bleeding---to looking behind his Leader in search of his well-known right-hand man.

“I’m fine, just a couple of scrapes and scratches. Nothing I can’t handle.” He brushed the young doctor off with a wave of his wrist.

“Luffy fell asleep. I woke him up when we got here,” he continued. “Should be in the kitchen by now.”

Chopper mumbled to himself, “I’ll have to check on him later,” clearly concerned about his crazy friend.

Zoro then took off the rucksack he had taken from Luffy and, one by one, took out the containers.

“Here’s the antibiotics you needed.”

Chopper’s eyes widened, grabbing them and opening them instantly.

“You were able to get them! Thank you! I really needed these. Some of the children have been coming down with fevers, what with the change of weather.” 

Striding towards his medicine cabinet, he began placing them on the shelves, all organized.

“No problem.” Zoro smiled, pleased to have been able to provide his people with the care they needed. “Well, I’m going to head off. Night, Chopper.”

“Goodnight, Zoro. Good work.”

With that, Zoro turned on his heel and exited the office.

He made his way to his hut, disappearing into it.

Because he was the Leader, his hut was more towards the front entrance of Emerald Peak, while the huts of his people were farther back. That way he’d be the first to be notified immediately if someone were to invade.

Everyone had their own hut, though only a few shared. Following his was Luffy’s, then Usopp’s, etc. They were always the first ones up and ready for anything if necessary.

Huts were far from luxurious. All of them had beds, of course, but only a few had cabinets, and very, _very_ little people had their own bathroom.

The ones who didn’t had to use comfort stations, sharing sinks, toilets, and showers. It was all they were able to offer for now. They had run low on carpentering supplies, and the metal used to construct toilets and such was very difficult to find and obtain.

Zoro was given his own bathroom. His people insisted he have it, despite his best efforts to convince them someone else needed it more than him. The people of his faction always treated him as what he was. Their leader, but he was also more than that, he was their friend .

When he’d walk through Emerald Peak, he was consistently greeted with the terms, “Sir,” or “Commander Zoro”, but he never liked being referred to as such.

“Please, just call me Zoro,” he’d say, but alas, they never would, as they had too much respect for him. Hell, it was because of them that he was chosen to be Leader.

He was determined to protect everyone in his camp, always willing to provide anything anyone may need. Without hesitation he’d give up his own life for them.

He was sure as hell going to fulfill his job, to be the focused and strong Leader his people deemed him as. That’s what he was living for. To keep everyone safe.

He was going to accomplish this, no matter what, and no distraction was going to get in the way of that.

* * *

_**Obsidian Shadow Faction - Several hours earlier** _

* * *

“You’re not eating, old man. Why.”

“Not hungry.”

“That’s bullshit. You’ve barely eaten these past few days.”

“And that’s none of your business, brat.”

A single blue eye studied the man beside him, the only person at the large round table without a plate before him, just a cup of water, nothing more.

Zeff sat there behind his sparse place setting, a steely, watchful gaze focused on the other five at the table, all of them consuming their meals without a care. They were meager meals, a stew of beef stock and vegetables, half a piece of bread each, but even Commander Judge on his other side was enjoying his with vigor.

No one but the Commander’s third son, Sanji, had wondered why he wasn’t eating.

Zeff was the man who had taught Sanji not to waste food, not in these desperate times. Zeff had taught him to use what they had, to the best of their abilities, and if that meant creating a full-course meal out of nothing but beans and potatoes, then he’d damn well do it.

Sanji was a cook, after all, and he’d sure as hell be a proper chef if he had more than a beat-up burner and a tiny freezer to work with.

But this was his job. He’d wanted this for as long as he could remember, ever since his mother’s smiling face had encouraged him, ever since he’d seen how much light came to her eyes, courtesy of nothing but some terribly-prepared fish and soggy vegetables.

Maybe she was gone. Maybe the entire world as they’d known it was gone. Maybe they were trapped inside this godforsaken fortress with hardly any supplies and an oppressive government looking to make sure it stayed that way. But he still had his dream.

Even if, currently, that dream meant cooking for his remaining family, his brothers and sister, and his father, none of whom appreciated what he did, or at least, not that he ever heard.

It didn’t matter. He had Zeff, his father’s second-in-command, distant, but more of a father to him than his own. And he was still sitting there stubbornly, eating nothing.

That could only mean one thing, Sanji realized with a sudden sinking of his stomach.

They were low on food. _Too_ low.

The blond pushed his yet-untouched bowl towards the center of the table, instantly receiving strange looks from his brothers and father, in particular.

No one said anything, but their disdainful gazes were enough to question, so Sanji simply shrugged and muttered, “Not hungry. Split it between you.”

The youngest, Yonji, didn’t wait, the green-haired man practically diving across the table for the bowl of stew with a toothy grin, Niji tackling him a second later, insisting he split it evenly. Ichiji and Reiju, the two eldest, merely sat and watched the two squabble.

None of them were concerned.

Only Zeff narrowed his eyes, glaring his way, but Sanji ignored it.

In fact, he pushed back from the table, his metal chair scraping across the stone floor.

This was never meant to be a dining room, and there was nothing to even suggest it was, only a measly hanging lamp that would have looked more at home in an interrogation room, and windows that gave a glimpse of the coming sunset.

“Excuse me,” he said, and no one stopped him.

Zeff’s eyes were on him, but he kept walking, his worn leather ankle boots clopping past his sister’s prim, polished ones, her legs crossed regally.

He felt her glance over, and he looked up to meet her single eye, just briefly, the other shrouded behind a curtain of pink hair.

Her brow furrowed slightly in confusion, but he shook his head subtly, offered no explanation, and kept walking.

He opened the door, a sound that echoed in the long, narrow corridor outside, and he stepped out, letting it close with a loud bang behind him.

As soon as it did, he ran.

The hall was dimly lit by torches along the wall, and it was bare, medieval practically, just like every other hallway in the place, but he knew the way. He’d lived here for more than half his life at this point, after all.

His heart pounded fearfully in his chest, the air thick and musty with the smell of steel.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, their fortress practically a giant oven itself, especially after a long day of sunshine.

Breaths huffed out harshly, and his footsteps rang out, alerting several guards who poked their heads out of doors along the way, eyes hidden behind matching goggles, but their mouths giving away their shock when their jaws gaped open.

“Master Sanji!” one called. “Is everything---?”

“It’s fine!” Sanji assured, even though he was certain it wasn’t.

Because each guard was one more mouth to feed. One more mouth that _might not get fed._

Fuck.

He kept running to the end of the hallway, which made an abrupt turn down a set of dark stairs, a dumbwaiter beside it that only worked by yanking a pulley system manually.

He went down the stairs, trying not to jump two at a time, hands catching himself against the stone wall of the basement, eyes focused on the tiny horizontal line of light that cracked out from beneath the door at the foot of the stairs far below.

He felt his way down the last ten steps or so, the torches on the upper floor no longer helping to brighten his way.

But he made it, practically kicking the door open and bursting forth into the glorified utility closet that doubled as their kitchen.

Sanji nearly gave a heart attack to Patty and Carne, the two assistant cooks huddled in a corner smirking over a rare pack of cigarettes they’d managed to procure.

Sanji couldn’t even be jealous.

“Fucking---what’re you runnin’ around for, Sanji? Coulda killed us in here!” the burly Patty exclaimed to hide how startled he was, the shorter Carne with a hand at his chest, still clutching the cigarettes.

“Shut up!” Sanji gritted out, vaulting over a few bags of rice that had begun to slide from where they leaned against the wall, dangerously nearing the drain that always had a dismal stream of water flowing into it from beneath the pipes.

Only a few lightbulbs, hanging from the ceiling without even shades to cover them, lit the way across the small space, the blond hurrying through, past the old furnace in the center of the room. He almost pushed Patty and Carne into one of the work tables, rattling the boxes of pans and cooking tools that sat atop them.

Then he was jumping up onto the stack of crates against the far wall, arms gripping the edge of the crawl space and shoving his way up with practiced ease to reach the makeshift storage area.

What would he find? A barren space? Completely empty? Nothing in sight?

He was only able to push up to his knees, hair barely grazing the ceiling, but he quickly crawled over to the first hanging light, reaching up to screw the lightbulb a little tighter, harsh light flickering on to illuminate the space.

“Seriously, what’re you doin’?” Patty called up to him from below. “The Boss just organized up there earlier! Y’better not mess anything up!”

Sanji didn’t listen, too preoccupied with ripping open the first canvas sack he laid eyes upon, closest to the front, dried corn, by the looks of it.

It was full of the hard yellow kernels, and when he ran a hand through it, he unearthed no insects or anything else to make the bag inedible.

He yanked the drawstrings shut again, unconvinced that things were as they seemed. Not when Zeff had refused a meal.

The sack next to it he tore open as well, only to find another full stock.

That was two bags of corn so far. And about fifty unopened sacks stretching along the perimeter of the crawl space, sectioned off with crude chalk writing on the walls labeling the different grains and supplies.

He would check every damn sack in this place until he was sure they had enough food to last them at least another week.

That was how things worked here. His father’s power and influence was wasted on weapons, an unfortunate necessity during these dark times, but what about the most _basic_ of necessities?

What about food? What about medical supplies? All of it was forgotten in favor of guns and bombs, and nothing would ever get better if the people in their faction couldn’t even _survive._

This angry thought assaulted Sanji’s mind as he ripped into a third sack, pulled back the opening….only to find it filled with sand.

Nothing but sand that they laid down over snow in the winter months to de-ice the road for their trucks.

Sanji stared at it in disbelief, dove a hand into it to determine it was in fact what it looked like. Then he growled, feeling his heartbeat pick up speed, and shoved the sack aside, shuffling the scuffed knees of his pants over to the next sack.

It was sand as well.

As was the next, and the next, and the next, until Sanji realized, with horror, that Zeff had moved the only two bags of food to the very front of the bunch, used the rest as an illusion to assuage him.

His breaths came heavily, fear in his chest, burning his eyes.

Even the freezer box, a metal container kept in the farthest, coldest corner of the crawl space, housed just two cuts of chickens.

When….? When had this happened?!

Yesterday had been fine, he’d thought. Hell, this _morning_ had. Granted, he hadn’t checked every single bag, with Zeff electing to run inventory, but---

Sanji heard the door open below him, heard an uneven pair of footsteps limp into the room, Patty and Carne both immediately stammering that the kid had lost his mind.

Sanji hadn’t realized he’d curled over in the middle of the crawl space, hands raking through his hair, head nearly pressed to his knees.

It was hard to keep his breaths under control, each wanting to rush out of him far too quickly, enough that his inhales gave him little relief as panic rooted itself deeply.

But then he heard Zeff’s gruff voice below, and he snapped.

He slid to the edge of the dusty crawl space, nearly smashing his head against the ceiling as he threw legs over the edge and jumped back down to the floor, missing the crates entirely.

Zeff stood by the door, and Sanji shoved aside Carne to storm across to him, fury, like thunder, on his face.

“When the fuck were you going to tell me we were out of food?!” he shouted, barely stopping himself from grabbing the old man’s stained white dress shirt. “What the _fuck_ are we supposed to do?!”

A beat of silence followed, both Patty and Carne grunting their shock, but Sanji ignored them, glowering only at the geezer.

“It wasn’t your concern, brat,” Zeff eventually muttered, standing calmly, the dim light casting heavy shadows over his face, accentuating tired eyes and wrinkles. “I’m arranging a hunting trip tomorrow.”

“We’ve already picked the woods dry!” Sanji cried. “The deer won’t be back for another year at this rate, and like hell we can feed everyone with a few ducks! Are you insane?! We’re fucking screwed here!”

Zeff’s response was cold.

“We’ve been through worse than this,” he grumbled. “Have a bit of backbone. Didn’t think you’d turn into a whiner like your brothers, brat.”

As soon as he’d said it though, he seemed to rethink his words, a flash of regret in his eyes when genuine hurt came over Sanji’s face.

“Don’t you _dare_ compare me to them!” the blond hissed, lips pulled back in a snarl. “Why would you try and hide this?!”

“Because I knew _this_ would happen!” Zeff argued immediately. “You don’t think straight when you’re worried, kid!”

The gruff tone to the man’s voice wavered ever so slightly, a flickering glimpse of genuine concern for Sanji showing through. It wasn’t often that it happened, and when it did, it was barely visible.

But it didn’t matter because he was right. He was absolutely right, and Sanji’s panic was too great to even pick up on the older blond’s honorable intentions.

He merely stood there, fists clenched at his sides, chest rising and falling in forceful breaths, the room feeling small, walls closing in as tension clouded the tiny dank space.

“I’m a cook,” Sanji finally gritted out, with nothing but the image of that golden, but worthless, sand mocking him. “And you _tell_ me these things.”

He shoved past Zeff then, ducking beneath a few low-hanging pipes to exit the small basement room, feet picking up speed as he stormed up the stairs again, the dark corridor just as oppressive in its emptiness.

Sanji wasn’t thinking straight, as Zeff had said, not when he ran the entire length of the upper hallway too, past the room where his father and siblings likely continued their meal, oblivious to what had gone on in the kitchen.

He pushed through another set of heavy doors, out into the barren courtyard, now lit only by a fire built out in the center, several of his father’s nameless soldiers huddled around it with their own bowls of stew.

Sanji felt sick, seeing it. Was that the last proper meal those men would likely eat?

He didn’t stop when a few addressed him questioningly, just circled around the covered walkway, the pillars casting a grid of long shadows in the burgeoning moonlight, footsteps echoing along the stone walls.

A bit of a chill had arrived along with the moon, and he felt goosebumps raise on his exposed arms, nothing but a thin white tank top protecting him.

But it was only a short distance to the next tower over, his family’s living quarters, which he burst into, bypassing a similarly dismal hallway and hurrying up a set of stairs.

He only needed a few things from his quarters, but he needed to act fast before anyone came after him. So it was up those steps, crossing a narrow hallway at the top to burst into his own room, a tiny space with not more than a cot, a wash basin, and two tattered suitcases under the cot, where he kept his belongings. A cell, really.

Sanji bent down, pulling out the suitcases and flipping open one to grab a beat-up leather jacket that he hastily shrugged on.

He took a mask next, a protective mask of hard plastic with goggles attached which he shoved under an arm. Then he unzipped another pocket and pulled out several thin drawstring bags, knotting them securely to his belt. They weren’t very big, but they would have to do.

The other suitcase opened to reveal an array of weapons: guns, knives, grenades. His own personal stash that he didn’t like to use. He’d much rather kick someone’s ass physically than hide behind something as easily deadly as a gun, but he kept them for emergencies.

And this absolutely qualified as such.

So he opened his jacket, shoved two pistols in the pockets inside, clipped a small revolver to the holster on his belt. From a small pocket on the outside of the suitcase, he grabbed his lighter, his crushed pack of cigarettes that was also terrifyingly low, just three sticks left inside.

But he’d sure as hell need one to quell his nerves on his way to Emerald Peak.

It was quite possibly a suicide mission, going alone, but clearly he was okay with that as he pushed the suitcases back under his bed and sprinted from the room, down the dark stairs and out into the night once more, this time even more careful to avoid the soldiers in the courtyard.

Emerald Peak would have food. Hell, they produced it, traded with other factions regularly. Grains, meats. It was his only hope as far as Sanji was concerned.

He resented his father immensely, in that moment, for his isolationist tendencies. For not fucking _caring_ for the people he was responsible for protecting. He wouldn’t even build a fucking wall around their faction’s fortress, his cockiness clear, making it easy for Sanji to slip right through the archway that served as the entrance, out of the broken gates that swung open easily with just a little bit of force.

He’d been told their encampment was a prison before the war started. Funny how, just like the rest of the world, its purpose was now rendered moot. The guards were slacking that night. Or perhaps he was just lucky.

The parking lot outside was empty, the sidewalks and pavement littered with cracks and debris from past bomb tests, save for one area off to the side where the vehicles were parked.

Sanji rushed across, jumping over curbs and dodging tall lampposts which no longer cast light, only the slight glow of faded parking space lines indicating his way.

Voices carried through the air from behind him, and he whipped his head back around to watch the looming building, peer up at the watchtower for a strained moment.

But its spotlight was pointed in a different direction, so he sighed and pressed on, making his way to the row of motorcycles standing sentinel near an old chain link fence, more diligent than his own father’s guards.

Quickly, he dug in the pocket of his jacket, pulling out, not a key, but a small army knife, which he flicked open as soon as he reached the first available bike, throwing a leg over it and settling onto the seat.

He had no helmet, only his goggles with the face mask attached, but he didn’t fucking care at this point. His biggest concern now was getting the fuck out without issue.

On went the mask. The blade of the knife he jammed into the ignition slot, a practiced wrist fiddling with it for a few seconds before it caught and he managed to turn it, hurriedly shifting the gear, squeezing the clutch on the handlebar, and pressing the button to start it up.

He fucking hoped it would start. There was never any certainty, given the scarcity of fuel, and the shoddy upkeep of some of the vehicles.

The motorcycle roared to life though, to his relief.

And as soon as it did, predictably, the beam of light from the watchtower swung towards the parking lot in alarm.

Sanji didn’t wait.

He kicked his foot off the ground and sped the bike forward, driving it across the parking lot, barely out-riding that beam that followed in hot pursuit, licking his back tire the whole way.

But in the end, the gap began to widen, and he found himself making a low-tilting turn out onto the open road beyond, wind whipping in his hair as his own small beam of light illuminated the path in front of him.

The dark shapes of tall evergreen trees watched him from either side, a tunnel of branches that grew increasingly overbearing the farther he rode from the fortress.

He wasn’t even sure he knew where Emerald Peak was, only knew the vague directions, never having gone himself.

This was stupid. This was utterly foolish.

But the thought of the geezer sitting there at the table with no food in front of him?

That was what spurred him onward.

* * *

Even with the mask to cover his face, a half hour of wind chilling his ears, blasting his bare collarbone, and battering his exposed knuckles was enough to make him slow his pace.

Sanji hadn’t seen another light for miles and miles, only the sparsely-placed route markers that told him he was heading properly east.

He’d ridden out here with Zeff a few times, though the woods had been bathed in sunlight then, the road winding through a forest of autumn leaves, untouched by man and thus _unspoiled._

In the dark of night, it was the same, but it was also confusing, the cragged silhouettes of trees blending together in a uniform blur.

Sanji was unsure if he’d turned down the correct fork in the road several times, route names having rusted and peeled off signs, but he trusted his instinct, moving east and moving _up_ the rolling hills.

The faction was called Emerald _Peak_ for a reason.

Still, doubts began to fill his mind, the longer he didn’t see a glimpse of light in the distance, the longer the trees surrounded him and didn’t give way to a hint of civilization.

He was lost. And on top of everything, he’d taken a fucking motorcycle, not thinking in his haste to get out quickly. Sure, he had rather large side compartments for storage, but like hell he was going to be able to fit a shit ton of stuff in there.

Fuck. Was this hopeless after all?

He gritted teeth and shook his head, the only one capable of reassuring himself, and he _had to._ He couldn’t turn back. If he’d gotten lost and gone the wrong way, so be it. He’d find another way to get food, another place. He’d steal a car. Whatever the fuck he needed to do.

He wasn’t going back to Obsidian Shadow until he was sure he had enough food to help the people of his faction.

The motorcycle engine purred, and he loosened up on the throttle as the tires coasted over the crest of a hill, trees thinning and giving way to what he could faintly see was an open valley below.

And in the center, a single beam of light rotating in a circular motion, illuminating tall gates and an open clearing.

Sanji’s heart skipped a beat.

Immediately, he slowed, steering the bike to the gravel beside the road and flipping off the headlight, pushing the mask up his face so he could see more clearly.

If that wasn’t Emerald Peak down there….then fuck it, because he was going anyway.

He shut the bike off, not wanting to alert anyone of his arrival, and slowly, carefully, began to roll it down the road himself, muscles straining a little under its heavy weight, but following that circling light that grew closer, ducking his head down and freezing when it began to skirt trees near him.

Sanji walked the rest of the way, rolling his motorcycle slowly alongside him, only the sound of its tires crunching over pebbles and his rapidly beating heartbeat filling his ears.

Just a few meters away from the front of the building, he finally rested the bike on the trunk of one of the many trees that stood in front of what he fucking _hoped_ was Emerald Peak.

It undeniably equated the description he’d heard from his father and brothers when they discussed raiding the faction.

An extensive iron gate enveloped the premises and just like his own, a watch tower was placed in the center, its beam highlighting different locations every few seconds.

There was one specific detail that Sanji keenly noticed, even through the obscurity of the night. He was very clearly able to see the property was indeed a dark _emerald,_ living up to the other half of its name.

Removing his mask and placing it on the lever of his bike, he fished out his cigarette pack, along with his lighter, and tapped one out onto his palm. Setting the stick between his lips, he lit it, taking a long drag. That instantly cooled his nerves.

This was it. He was here and he was going to fucking do this.

After a couple more drags, he dropped the cigarette, stubbing it out with his boot.

Fastening the mask back onto his face, he then brought out one of the pistols held in his jacket and loaded it. Holding it with both hands and aiming it downwards, he eyed the beam of the tower, studying its movements briefly, noting exactly each place it illuminated.

The beam lit up the trees a few meters to his left, then moved once more, this time illuminating the entrance.

He ran.

It was a small distance toward the back side of the building where he knew the beam didn’t reach, therefore he made his way there.

Approaching, he slowly halted his movements and pressed his back against the wall, pistol still aimed at the ground. When no move was made that signaled an intruder, he stored the pistol back into his inside jacket pocket.

Stepping a few inches away from the gate, he turned and examined how high it was, questioning if he’d be able to jump it. Fuck yeah he could.

From where he stood, he readied himself to break out into a sprint and sped off, jumping last minute and smoothly grabbing the top of the gate, hauling himself over to the other side and then landing with a soft thud.

Instantly scanning the new area, he realized he seemed to be standing on what looked like a training field. Target dummies aligned the field, just about three punching bags placed right next to them, while weights of different sizes littered the grass.

Learning the scenery for only a second, he quickly searched for something to hide himself against, but there was _nothing_ fucking useful.

Unhooking the revolver from his belt and holding it upwards this time, he hurriedly skidded across the field, and once again pressed against a wall. He neither spotted nor heard any shifting, so he proceeded on. With his back still pressed along the concrete wall, he slid across it, shifting towards his left and peering over his shoulder around the corner.

Now where could their food be. He thought of the building he was currently leaning on and stepped away from it to examine it. He searched for an entrance and directly spotted double doors, leading the way inside.

Sanji predicted they had the food inside there, if the place was anything like his own faction.

Smiling slyly, he paced his way there. He grasped one of the door knobs, but made no motion to open it. His grin widened greatly, cocking his head to the right when a large bunker was caught in his peripheral vision.

_Bingo._

* * *

The vault-like bunker was quite big, his imagination whirling with excitement at the thought he just might be able to go through with this. He inspected the lock that held the doors in place and found himself stumped.

Yeah, fuck no.

Raising his right leg in the air above his head, he forcefully brought it back down, taking the lock with it. The chains surrounding it snapped in half, and the doors creaked slightly.

Flinching, he glanced behind him, expecting to be ambushed and on the floor with bullets lodged in him, but was only met with darkness, the feel of the cool night air flowing through his hair.

He turned his head back around, and opened one of the doors. A sudden shiver coursed through his body instantaneously, feeling it from the hairs on the back of his neck all the way down to his toes.

It was the feeling of being watched…

But he didn’t even have time to think how cold it was before he froze.

He could only stare in fucking awe at the amount of food he saw displayed right before him. From what he could tell, there were vegetables, hung loosely from bags on the top shelf, fruits of all types right beside them, while loaves of bread were situated beneath.

Losing himself, he drifted his way to the first sack on the floor, taking it into his hand and pulling its drawstring open.

_Rice._

He ran his fingers through it, as if his eyes were deceiving him that it wasn’t in fact the grain he’d cooked so many times.

Onto the next, he found beans, and after, spices he knew would be necessary.

Releasing the carrying bags he had tied to his belt, he opened one and acted quickly. The first bag he filled with a mix of the vegetables and fruits: celery, lettuce, tomatoes, onions, apples, bananas, oranges, pears---all he could carry.

The next he loaded with meats: pork, chicken and beef.

Using his last bag, he knew he would only be able to bring one brand of grain back with him.

He debated for a second which was most crucial, which he could use for various types of meals.

Grabbing handfuls of the white grain, he chose rice and placed it little by little into the bag, filling it and finally closing its drawstring.

It was then when the realization hit him head on.

Why had this been so simple?

No one was guarding the premises and he’d avoided getting caught by the watchtower all too easily.

He couldn’t have just gotten lucky. Well, if they were to have made a move, they would have done so by now. They wouldn’t just let him fucking break open their food vault, bag their food and get away with it… Right?

Shrugging it off and keeping his task in mind, he heaved the three bags over his shoulder, grunting a little with the new weight.

He peeked out the door but _still_ saw nobody.

Fuck it, he’d made it this far, and he was going to get the hell out of here.

Closing the door gently, he strode towards where he remembered jumping over the fence, when the all too familiar sound of a gun cocking rang from behind him, making him freeze in his spot. 

His heartbeat increased tenfold.

“Drop it.”

He heard foot steps approach subtly behind him, seconds later feeling cool metal press ever so slightly on his nape.

He had no choice but to drop the bags, regrettably.

He was so _fucking close._

Sanji was only able to let out one shaky breath before a sharp pain shot through the back of his head, making everything go black.


	2. Enemies Close

* * *

_“Sanji….Sanji, get up!”_

Explosions. Rattling the walls. Gunfire.

_“Sanji, Father says we have to go! People are attacking! Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji are already in the car! Do you want us to leave you behind?!”_

He was sweating. The smell of smoke clouded the air.

Or was it steel….gunfire...

He was running, with as much as he could carry thrown over his shoulder, and he didn’t understand why. He was a child.

They had to go. All of them. But...

_“We can’t---we can’t bring her, Sanji! The hospital is---!”_

His head pounded. He dropped the load he carried, everything he’d worked so hard to gather.

Mother…

Why was this happening?

He felt cold….

So cold….

He wanted to see her again.

But he was too---

Eyes snapped open, instantly met with a sharp pain cutting through the back of his skull. It stung his skin, hurt his neck, and he realized, with sudden terror, that he couldn’t see, couldn’t move.

Where was he?

Where the _fuck_ was he?

Breaths began to huff quickly, the sound loud, almost amplified in his ears. But he felt something on his face, and it was his motorcycle mask, the hard plastic still covering his nose and mouth.

Everything was an odd sickly green, he began to notice, eyesight slowly coming back to him, tinted by the night vision of his goggles.

He was in a room, a small, dimly-lit room that didn’t hold much within its walls of corrugated tin.

A dirty old mattress, with a few flimsy-looking blankets thrown over it, was pushed against a wall, and there was a black backpack on the concrete floor, two duffle bags beside it, both riddled with rips and tears.

He tried to turn, to see more of his surroundings, but Sanji realized, with an angry hiss, that he was tied securely to a metal chair. Thin white rope circled his torso, arms bound tightly to the armrests, ankles zip-tied to the legs. He felt sharp plastic zip-ties cutting into his wrists as well, as if the rope wasn’t enough.

And then he felt a large hand clamp down on the back of his neck.

“You’re awake,” a low voice rumbled, lips close to his ear, and did Sanji imagine it, or was there a hint of enjoyment in that tone?

Sanji shivered inadvertently, having someone so close to his neck, the small hairs standing at attention.

He craned his head away instinctively, tried to turn and see his captor, but the man remained conveniently in his blind spot, probably on purpose.

Sanji tried, instead, to focus on calming his breaths. If he showed fear, there was no telling what would happen.

He could have asked a million questions, and in fact, he desperately wanted answers.

Where was he? Where was the food he’d so magnificently failed at stealing? What was this man going to do to him?

But he wouldn’t ask them. He wouldn’t give anything away.

The room was silent for a long moment, nothing but his own breathing and the faint drip of water somewhere to fill it.

He thought he caught a glimpse of a thin quilted thermal sleeve in his peripheral as the hand on his neck eventually loosened and disappeared.

For some reason, the feel of those calloused fingers tingled at his skin even after their removal.

“What’s the matter? Not gonna talk?” the voice asked, most likely picking up on how Sanji had stilled, staring straight ahead stubbornly through the otherworldly glow of his night vision filter.

The man chuckled, Sanji having to resist another shiver the deep sound sent rippling through him. He heard a few footsteps behind him as the man paced to his other side, still just out of sight.

“You must’ve been pretty damn sneaky to get past Usopp,” the man mused, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Either that or he’s slacking. Sucks for you---I couldn’t sleep. Otherwise, you might’ve gotten away with it.”

Sanji didn’t make a sound at the jibe, his only movement that of his hands twisting uncomfortably to relieve some of the pressure from his binds.

More footsteps, probably from combat boots if he recognized that heavy clomp, and then, one of the hands had returned, resting on the back of the chair. He couldn’t see or feel it, but it was close enough to touching him that he sensed it, a crawling sensation rising up the back of his neck.

He didn’t move.

“Stealing food,” muttered the man, and then he felt two forearms press against his shoulder blades as his captor folded arms casually on top of the chair back, his voice coming close to Sanji’s ear again. “You came here alone. Awful lot of food for one person. Who was it for? You a Gatecrasher?”

No response, even though Sanji’s stomach churned at the assumption. He may have been desperate, but he would never stoop to their level. Fighting and killing senselessly, like _animals_ would. Society may have crumbled, but there was still a certain sense of dignity to maintain. At least in Sanji’s eyes.

“I’ve never seen a Gatecrasher with the gear you’ve got though,” the man continued, and Sanji’s heart sunk with the revelation that he couldn’t feel the familiar press of his weapons against his chest. This shitbag must have taken them.

“We’ve got trade agreements with Raven Outlaw here,” that voice drawled with mock confusion. “And I’ll be damned if Rayleigh or Shanks would be stupid enough to let some idiot out on a solo suicide mission. So that leaves---one---place.”

A teasing pat to Sanji’s chest with each word, and Sanji resisted the urge to growl and give himself away, even if his captor had likely figured it out already.

It didn’t matter, Sanji thought. Let him find out. He had his reasons for doing this. To _feed_ the people of his faction. No one else had done a damn thing about their dwindling supplies, and people would start _dying_ if he hadn’t at least tried. They might still.

_Let him find out._

It was a stubborn mantra in his head as that hand lifted from his chest and reached up to remove his mask, sliding it off entirely and tossing it somewhere behind him, where it landed with a light sound onto something soft.

Sanji’s hair fell in front of his face, stuck to his sweaty forehead in places, unable to even brush it off.

The room was clearer now, still dim and dank, lacking color beyond the muted industrial grays and neutrals.

And yet, there was still a patch of green when the man behind him finally stepped around Sanji to stand before him.

His captor’s hair was an odd shade of moss, much like his own brother’s, but softer, a pastel to offset severe, angular features, dark eyes that now observed Sanji like he was some sort of specimen...or a piece of meat.

The man was built, coiled muscle and power straining at the tight fabric of his shirt, partially hidden beneath a bulkier vest. A vest that no doubt held weapons.

Still, Sanji wasn’t intimidated. He was too angry for that, particularly when the man’s lips turned up slightly. As if this whole thing was downright amusing.

“So Obsidian Shadow got cocky enough to think they could raid whoever the hell they want,” said the man, crossing arms over his chest, leveling Sanji with his gaze. “Well, it doesn’t fucking work like that. You want food, you join the rest of us. _Trade._ Try and make something _civilized_ out of this whole fucking---”

“Shut the fuck up!” Sanji barked, breaking his own code of silence at the man’s condescending tone, and it was clear he’d surprised him by the slight raise of his brows. “Don’t talk to me like you know better! Trust me, I wouldn’t have set foot in this hellhole if it hadn’t been a desperate situation!”

His captor’s momentary shock seemed to have burned away quickly, the man’s eyes narrowing before he stepped closer, loomed over Sanji’s seated form and planted a hand onto the back of his chair.

“And you expect me to believe that,” he replied drily, a glare meeting Sanji’s head-on.

“I don’t expect you to understand something that’s clearly beyond your small window of comprehension,” the cook shot back and felt the tiniest swell of triumph within him when the man’s top lip curled with genuine irritation.

Swiftly, he reached into his vest, unhooked a small pistol, and jammed the miniature butt underneath Sanji’s chin.

“You wanna talk desperate situation...” growled the man, leaning closer as if that would help matters, close enough that Sanji could see the faint scar running through his right eyebrow, another over the bridge of his nose.

The pistol dug into his skin, but still Sanji stared back defiantly, not resigned to his death, and certainly not afraid. Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline that had surged through him.

Or perhaps it was the inkling he had that the man wouldn’t actually pull that trigger.

Something told him, if he’d wanted Sanji dead, he would have done it the instant he found him. People were merciless like that.

Sanji said nothing, merely waited, almost daring the man to go through with it. If he was killed, there would be no shame over losing the dare, after all. He wouldn’t be alive to feel it.

What was the guy waiting for? For Sanji to plead for his life? Beg to go free so he could continue this pathetic existence?

Who would miss him? Who was left that would feel any sort of pain over his passing?

Things might be tough for the faction initially. Zeff would have to pick up the slack left by him. But he could do it. He was strong.

Zeff, at the very least, would figure out he was gone. And maybe there would be consequences for this mosshead bastard, in the end. He was sure the old man did care about him. But Zeff was rational. He wouldn’t let one loss cloud his judgment so much.

Maybe that was wishful thinking….but Sanji hoped it wasn’t. The last thing he wanted was for the geezer to do something stupid.

Something like he’d done, come to think...

The man was still watching Sanji with that gun beneath his jaw, didn’t look away, and he stayed that way for a torturously long minute.

Sanji’s heart, despite everything, thudded slowly in his chest. Steadily beating as if to defy the man’s threat as well.

He waited.

Until something changed in his captor’s eyes---he saw it. Just a slight wavering of the tension, barely noticeable, and Sanji found he wasn’t surprised when, a few moments later, the man slowly pulled the weapon away from Sanji’s chin and hid it inside his vest again.

He didn’t take his eyes off the blond though, and Sanji didn’t betray any hint of gratitude or relief.

If the man was sparing his life, then there had to be a reason, and while he didn’t much care to find it out, he did want to know why he _apologized_ soon after.

“I’m sorry,” said the man calmly, levelly. “I don’t know your situation. M’not sorry for stopping you though. Or knocking you out.”

“Asshole,” Sanji quipped with a scowl, despite how sincere he’d managed to sound at first.

He also wondered why the hell the guy’s lips turned up ever so slightly at the insult.

His mouth opened as if to speak, but it took him a second, that curious smirk still on his face.

“M’not letting you go back,” he said, and the tone of his voice was just like a little kid trying to get a rise out of someone, Sanji thought with annoyance. “I don’t trust you. You’re not leaving my sight.”

Sanji couldn’t help but scoff at that.

“And what makes _you_ so important? You’re not gonna take me to your Lead---?”

He stopped though when the smirk on the other man’s face grew until it was practically gleeful, particularly when Sanji dropped his head back and groaned a second later.

“Oh, come on, are you kidding me? _You’re_ Zoro Roronoa?” he complained, because, after hearing the descriptions put forth by his father (who admittedly had never seen the man either), he’d conjured some rather opposing images in his head.

For one, he would have expected someone considerably more…

Well, he wouldn’t have pinned some young, buff, and rugged supermodel-type to be the Leader of Emerald Peak, that was for sure. He cringed inwardly at that description.

Sanji was silent for a minute, growing more and more irritated with the smug look on this Zoro’s face, the idiot losing any intimidation he might have mustered behind that stupidly self-assured expression.

Sanji merely rolled his eyes, did his best to look unimpressed, which he _was._

“Suppose it fits,” he grumbled, eyeing that minty green atop his captor’s head, and thinking of his faction’s name---Emerald Peak. “What with your hair and all.”

...

A beat.

...

But then, Zoro got it. Slow, this one, clearly.

_“What?!”_

The man’s voice rose about an octave and a half, and Sanji was certain that, yes, this guy was indeed just an idiot with a gun. Which, he also supposed, was quite a dangerous thing in the end. Why get so offended over the obvious?

Zoro was back up in his face again, gripping the back of the chair and doing his best to bare every tooth he had, a few inches from Sanji’s face.

“I was gonna untie you so you could sleep, but maybe I’ll just _leave_ you like that, Curly Brow!” he snarled.

 _“Curly_ Brow?!” Sanji screeched right back, not even intending to mimic the mosshead’s impressive tonal range. “Alright, get me the fuck out so I can _kick your ass!”_

“Like you even _could!”_ Zoro jabbed.

“Right, well, that’s easy for you to say when you’ve got me _tied up_ here! Coward!”

Suddenly, Zoro’s entire demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, this wasn’t a silly bout of one-upping, because a new fire had blazed within him, enough that he actually darted a hand out to grab the blond by his jacket collar, physically pull him, chair and all, across the floor towards him.

He was seething, heavy breaths close to Sanji’s face, but there was something else, something else in those eyes beyond blind rage, and for just a moment, Sanji thought he saw a raw vulnerability, one that was powerful enough to have his own breath catch.

There was nothing he could do to fight back. If Zoro was going to hit him, then he couldn’t stop it. His own expression simmered to something a bit more reserved.

Just as quickly as he’d lashed out, Zoro seemed to realize what he’d done, and, surprisingly, his face fell the tiniest bit, his grip automatically loosening on Sanji’s collar.

Still, he tried to maintain his ferocity, growling out, “I am _not_ a coward,” before releasing Sanji roughly and shoving him back.

The man then took a knife from a small sheath on his belt, moved closer to Sanji….only to slip the blade between a few ropes at the blond’s chest and begin hacking apart his binds.

Sanji watched his face the whole time, for any sign that he was going to snap and stab him, but Zoro kept his gaze firmly focused on his work, his brow furrowed.

Something was going on in his head just then, but Sanji couldn’t read it, the man’s jaw muscles clenching tightly, his shoulders hunched, but his hands deft and gentle as he maneuvered the rope off Sanji’s torso.

Eventually, the last of the ropes fell away, and Sanji could finally breathe a little easier at least. He noticed that Zoro went to snap the zip-ties on his ankles first, truly a mistake considering, unbeknownst to him, Sanji’s feet were his best weapons.

But when the knife broke the plastic and both his legs were free, the blond was a little shocked to find that he didn’t lash out immediately. He didn’t kick the bastard’s face in and make a run for it, even with a chair attached to his hands.

Instead he just sat there, waited it out as Zoro freed his wrists as well, then hauled him up to his feet quickly, wrenching his hands behind his back. A jingling sound and Sanji saw, a second later, a pair of handcuffs pulled out of Zoro’s vest, which was proving to harbor quite the arsenal behind its puffy navy fabric.

“Really? Handcuffs? You think that’s gonna stop me from escaping?” the cook muttered, unable to hold back a scoff, waiting for that click of metal clasping onto his wrists.

Zoro made a little growl of irritation, something that satisfied Sanji to no end, but then he felt a cold ring clamp around one of his wrists….and not the other, Zoro releasing it to let his right arm swing free.

Another click of the handcuffs, and he realized, with a rather comical amount of horror…..that the bastard had handcuffed Sanji’s left hand to _his._ He was securely handcuffed to Zoro’s right wrist, and for some reason, this was the worst punishment of all.

 _“What_ the--?!” he squawked immediately, thrashing his arm about. “Oh _hell_ no! Look, throw me in your dungeon---chain me up---I don’t fucking care, but like _hell_ I am---!”

“Now you won’t escape,” Zoro interrupted, along with the return of that infuriatingly smug look, even as Sanji continued to tug futilely at the handcuffs.

But the metal dug into his wrists painfully and he did _not_ want to damage his hands in _any_ way. They were his most precious tools, and if this son of a bitch ripped them off or some shit, he’d fillet him.

Zoro moved then, tugging Sanji with him as he pushed the chair back to the edge of the room, kicked aside the scraps of rope littering the floor.

“Take them off, you idiot!” Sanji hissed, this time trying to swipe Zoro’s feet out from under him with a long leg, but to no avail as Zoro unexpectedly turned on him.

With a flick of his wrist, he bodily threw Sanji down to the mattress against the wall, with an unceremonious, “Oof!” escaping the blond as his face hit a pillow that had seen fuck knew what kind of filth from that grimy head of moss.

Zoro reached down to drag the mattress, with Sanji on it, across the small space of the room until it lay directly beside a row of three equally filthy couch cushions on the floor against the opposite wall. A tiny battery-operated lantern flickered on the floor beside the cushions, the only source of light in the dismal space. Windows on the wall above were covered with a clear plastic tarp-like material duct-taped to the frames, possibly old shower curtains.

Now that the whole space was visible, Sanji assumed it had to have been a tiny car garage at one point, noticing one wall was indeed a pull-down garage door.

Sanji realized, with an odd pang in his chest, that, as far as luxury went, even his meager quarters had this beat. And this guy was the Leader? Fuck. He was scared to think about how the others in his faction lived.

“You sleep there,” Zoro was saying, yanking Sanji up and attempting to kick him over to the couch cushions with a toe to his chest. “Go. Go, go, go, go---”

And he started repeating it so much, his foot nudging Sanji’s chest each time, that the annoyance alone was enough to get Sanji shifting off the mattress to the cushions.

They weren’t comfortable, lumpy and thin, and he had to position himself on the middle one, sliding the other two closer until they met and could simulate a makeshift mat.

Zoro settled down on his own mattress, reached over with the intent of turning off the lantern.

“Hold up. Where are my weapons?” Sanji asked, jabbing his own leg out to stop the man’s arm.

“Hidden,” Zoro grumbled, still stubbornly reaching for the light.

 _“Hidden?”_ Sanji growled. “Listen, you got your food back, so like hell I’ll let you steal from me! Or sleep next to you when you’ve got a whole _vest_ full of shit that can kill me!”

Zoro stopped, looked down at his own vest and seemed to consider Sanji’s words for a moment.

Then, to Sanji’s surprise, he pulled out his small pistol, and rose eyes to meet Sanji’s pointedly as he slid the weapon across the smooth concrete, out of reach of both of them. The knife followed, and another pistol and a taser Sanji hadn’t known were pocketed on his other side.

With that, he held out hands, pulled back his sleeves a little to prove he had nothing up them, which was often literally the case with people these days.

Zoro finally grabbed the lantern then, turning a dial, its light dimming before disappearing entirely. He settled down finally onto his back, stretching out on his mattress, on top of the blankets, his free hand folding behind his head.

Sanji noticed how, much like himself, Zoro didn’t take his shoes off to sleep, though he did close his eyes, the moonlight, shining through the plastic over the window, covering his face in a pale shroud of white.

Fuck, was this really happening? Was he _really_ going to spend the night here? Handcuffed to the Leader of Emerald Peak? When he should be slitting the guy’s throat and getting the hell back to his own faction with _food?_

Zoro cleared his throat deliberately when Sanji continued to sit there, leaning on his palm, glaring down at the other man as if that alone would shatter the cuffs.

_“Lie down or I’ll radio my battalion and get ‘em right out to attack your stupid faction---”_ the mosshead hissed. 

“Like they could do any damage to our---”

Zoro made a frustrated noise, cutting Sanji off, and he finally opened eyes again to glower up at the blond.

“What do you want me to say?” the mosshead grumbled. “I’ll kill everyone you love? ‘Cause that’s even more fucked up.”

The way he said it, almost reluctantly, as if the very words were abrasive to him, had Sanji’s head tilting to the side ever so slightly, studying the man in the darkness.

Zoro’s features were annoyed, but more relaxed than before, certainly a lot more human, and the look he gave Sanji clearly demanded an answer.

For the second time, Sanji felt like this was a test of sorts…

But he also had one of his own.

“Would you really do that…?” he asked quietly, gaze flicking over the sharp shadow left by the bridge of Zoro’s nose over his right cheek, the way the moonlight turned his irises to an almost olive color, no longer the dark pits that had seared at him earlier.

Zoro didn’t answer him right away, and the silence stretched long enough that Sanji wondered if he even would.

But then he broke Sanji’s gaze, settled back against his pillow again and closed his eyes.

“I’d kill _you_...not your loved ones…” he muttered dismissively, clearly done with the conversation.

Sanji rose a brow slowly, glad Zoro couldn’t see him when the corner of his lips lifted ever so slightly.

Zoro had essentially threatened his life, and yet he found himself settling down onto those nasty, dusty cushions at long last, curled on his side facing Zoro, inhaling the scent of steel and pine.

He watched the man’s profile for a while, the peaks and valleys of his face, rather intrigued when Zoro’s breaths started to slow, even out. Was the other man actually going to fall asleep, with a potential enemy here beside him...?

The thought of it was...interesting.

Sanji knew he wouldn’t sleep, but he finally closed his eyes too, sure his captor had already passed out.

But almost as soon as he did, he heard Zoro’s voice, barely audible beneath the faint whistle of wind, the ripple and snap of the plastic windows. Still, Zoro’s voice was enough to startle him with a faint jolt through his chest.

 _“What’s your name…?”_ the man murmured, and the second jolt through Sanji’s chest was considerably stronger this time.

The blond let out the breath that had hitched ever so quietly, didn’t open his eyes, and he nearly pretended to be asleep himself.

But the answer fell from his lips before he could stop it.

 _“Sanji…”_ he breathed in response.

He hadn’t seen Zoro’s tiny smile either.

* * *

_**Obsidian Shadow Faction** _

* * *

“Where’s the brat?”

It was well past seven, the hour Sanji was known to already be in the kitchen, whether he was washing the previous night’s dishes, preparing the morning’s breakfast, or yelling at Patty and Carne to get off their lazy asses and get to work. Whatever it was, he was supposed to be here.

But he wasn’t.

“We don’t know. We walked in here prepared to get fucking yelled at, but it was empty.” Patty frowned and shrugged, some concern present on his facial features. Carne nodded along, agreeing with him.

Zeff’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. After Sanji’s sudden outburst last night, he had hoped he hadn’t acted irrationally and done something stupid, but having known Sanji since birth, he knew what the hell he was capable of.

And the fact that he wasn’t here fucking scared him.

Dropping the box he was carrying---only a few radishes and onions found inside---on the rusting counter of his kitchen, Zeff turned and limped his way out, Patty and Carne not even trying to stop him.

He could only _pray_ the idiot had overslept. He didn’t even want to _think_ of the ideas crossing his mind of where Sanji could be.

He paced through the empty courtyard, the sound of his rapid footsteps filling the void of silence as they echoed through the large concrete-filled space. Reaching the metal doors attached to the Vinsmoke establishment, the guards on duty merely nodded at him and let him through.

He only ignored them.

It was still dark out, but dim orange was already starting to shine its way through the dust-covered windows, barely illuminating the hallway Zeff walked within.

He sped upstairs, the familiar door he’d often walked through showing itself in his line of vision. Would Sanji be in there?

Grabbing the doorknob, he practically barged his way through, only to have his heart sink to his stomach.

The room was empty. The covers of the bed pressed against the wall were still made, everything seemingly untouched. He walked inside, slowly, as though if he entered, the blond would suddenly appear, safe and sound.

Worry and anger began to grow inside him rapidly as each minute passed. He clenched his fists and headed out, but stopped in his tracks when he spotted what looked like the corner of a suitcase peeking its way out from under the bed. Zeff limped towards it, bent down to retrieve it, then placed it on the linen sheets.

It was a silver suitcase that was familiar. Zeff had already grown accustomed to using one himself. Just as he anticipated, the case was filled with just a few weapons, but what caught his attention were the three gun-shaped hollows. Two pistols and a revolver were missing.

Angrily, Zeff slammed the suitcase shut, not even bothering to put it back in its proper place, and left the room. There had to be a reason they were gone, and he didn't like the possibilities of what the idiot could have done with them and gotten himself into.

—

Back in the courtyard, the ‘soldiers’ of the faction had already begun gathering and preparing themselves for the day. A few of them readied weapons, already planning to head out on raids, while others either stood guard outside the premises—switching with those who took the night shift—or patrolled and aided Judge Vinsmoke from his office.

Zeff never had or would like Judge. He _dreaded_ even referring to him as his leader, but he was left with no choice, when he was appointed to be second-in-command. He could only observe and note how Judge treated his people.

It was noticeable through his actions that the man didn’t give a flying fuck about anybody’s well-being but his own. Well, his own and that of four of his five children. Sanji, the brat he now searched for, was not included in that category.

Sanji was like his mother, Zeff knew. Sanji was kind, gentle, courageous. Sanji did her proud every day of his life, but that was just it.

Sanji _lived._ And Sora hadn’t….

And to Judge, that was unbearable.

He was treated much differently than his siblings. Zeff knew the boy had long since noticed, but he just hadn’t acted out on it, the feelings or questions Sanji had all continuously piled within him. Sanji had never told Zeff himself, but he didn’t have to. He had caught the lost and lonely expression Sanji wore most of the time, and with that alone, he knew.

He knew the isolation Sanji felt from his family ever since he was just a kid, and he couldn’t stand to have the brat live that way, therefore, he took him under his wing. From the age of ten, he’d trained him, day and night, how to use a gun, how to aim, how to raid, how to _kill._

Then, finally, he taught him all there was to know about cooking.

And as the years passed, he had to admit, Sanji turned out to be a _damn_ good chef.

Sanji enjoyed cooking. He enjoyed the satisfaction of knowing everyone had enough to eat, of seeing their faces light up when they asked for seconds.

Zeff would only smile and shake his head when he watched the big stupid grin planted on the brat’s face as he handed them more food...

Despite being worried and anxious to find Sanji, he had to resume his job as chef of the faction now that the civilians were awakening.

Every day, they all lined up for each meal, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. As soon as they received their food, they all went their separate ways to their sad excuses of accommodations to eat.

Yes, they had dining tables, but they were never used, as the people of this place were very distant with one another.

And Zeff knew why. They couldn’t call this place their home. Sure, they lived here, _together,_ but no one usually interacted with each other. Everyone kept to themselves.

Judge was to blame for this. He, their _leader,_ didn’t socialize with his people, didn’t try to liven up the place, didn’t put forth the effort to make Obsidian Shadow feel like _home._

It was sad to think that, when the world changed all those years ago, some of the few remaining people had chosen this faction to join in search of a reason to live, but they had never been given that.

Sighing, yet still smiling, he handed a woman and her child two plates of all he was able to offer at the moment—scrambled eggs, along with boiled rice and a few chopped vegetables.

The woman smiled gratefully in return, and Zeff moved on to the next person.

“...That bastard Sanji, he didn’t stock up the boxes of weapons last night. Now I’m stuck with the damn job.”

Zeff glanced up, seeing two members of the Vinsmoke family. But neither of them was the one he wanted to see.

“And I gotta help you! He’s fucking useless, I swear…” Niji muttered, clearly irritated.

Yonji walked alongside him, both bickering as they went.

“Haven’t seen him all morning, but when I do, I’m gonna fucking _kick_ his ass.”

So he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t seen the idiot, but he was the only one searching for him. Giving the last man his plate, Zeff slammed the tray he used to serve on an empty table, then turned and stomped off towards the exit of the faction, shoving his way through metal doors once again.

_Don’t fucking tell me. ___

____

Heading straight for the parking lot, he felt the panic he had earlier quickly escalating. If Sanji had done what he thought he did...

He looked for any empty parking spots, to signal that someone had taken a vehicle. No one has left yet on raids, so he knew if there was one missing, Sanji must’ve taken it.

_All jeeps here. None taken._

Next, bikes. He quickly skimmed the array of motorcycles, and he almost missed it, but towards the end of the row, he saw there was _one_ empty parking space.

Staring at the vacant spot, Zeff’s eyebrow twitched in pure agitation and he clenched his fists, _beyond_ frustrated.

If Sanji was still out there and fucking alive, then he was just going to have to kick the brat’s ass _himself._

* * *

_**Emerald Peak Faction** _

* * *

Zoro blinked eyes open blearily, the room still hazy with the veil of sleep, the blurriness in his vision threatening to drag him right back under again. It wasn’t often that he slept in late, especially not after the sun was already out, small flecks of dust particles dancing above him from the rays angling in through the window.

He was always up by sunrise, making the rounds, checking in with Usopp, Luffy, and the other guards, going through supplies with Nami or Chopper. He’d listen to Robin’s trade reports, talk weapon status with their resident carpenter and armory manager, Franky. Sometimes he’d simply weave through the other huts, checking on the dozens of other occupants that resided within the faction’s walls, in the various dilapidated huts and barracks that stubbornly stood somehow, despite crumbling facades and paper thin roofs.

They’d made their home in an old army training facility. Perhaps some of the resilient spirit of its past inhabitants had fortified the buildings as well.

But this wasn’t an ordinary day, Zoro soon remembered, as his senses came back to him slowly, because, in the corner of his peripheral vision, there was a dark blur. Not to mention, his mattress was clear on the opposite side of his room, his right arm stretched out oddly….

And the dark blur was breathing softly.

Slowly, he turned his head, still flat on his back, to see the blond man beside him, curled on his side on the old couch cushions, his eyes closed and shaggy hair falling over half his face.

They were still handcuffed together, and considering he hadn’t felt any movement in the night, no attempts to be free or any outright attack, Zoro had to assume the blond had actually fallen asleep.

What had he said his name was? Oh yeah….Sanji...the idiot thief from Obsidian Shadow.

He was actually surprised he’d managed to sleep, feet away from a potential threat, but then again, he certainly had, and he hadn’t detected anything particularly ferocious about the guy when he’d found him rooting through the food stores with nothing but a few bags on him. If he’d thought he could get away with several trips, then he was clearly underestimating Emerald Peak’s forces. Definitely an idiot.

Was Obsidian Shadow really that desperate?

Zoro knew them to be ruthless. Judge Vinsmoke, already a well-known tycoon at the time, president of a massive weapons manufacturing company, had established himself as a leader soon after society’s disassembly, and he’d never looked back, taking advantage of whomever he needed to, asserting his dominance by claiming territory for himself, intimidating away even reckless Gatecrashers.

He was merciless, but proud, and smart. Zoro couldn’t imagine the man ever stooping to something as low as petty thievery, and certainly not by sending a lone asshole on a one-man mission.

So why was Sanji here? 

Zoro’s eyes watched the man’s face, his features slack, eyes gently closed, cheek pressed into the musty cushion below.

Now, Zoro could see him better, see that, in natural light, he was actually quite handsome, and he meant that in the least romantic way. He hadn’t unmasked some ugly goon, programmed to mindlessly fight him.

Sanji was actually rather princely, skin smooth and pale, clean, for the most part. It was almost unbelievable, the man’s looks not matching any of what he’d come to expect in this cutthroat world.

His leather jacket was worn, and so were his dark jeans, but the rest of him seemed untouched, only a few fading bruises marring his jaw, probably from an altercation with a fist, if Zoro knew anything about wounds. 

And when Sanji’s eyes opened without warning to reveal a brilliant blue that Zoro hadn’t properly seen the night before, his heart jumped a little bit in response to that sharp gaze suddenly meeting his own.

He wasn’t expecting the man to show fear, after the display Sanji had exhibited the previous night, but he definitely wasn’t expecting a fucking insult to fall from the other man’s lips first thing.

“Do you always stare at your prisoners? Creep…” the blond muttered, sounding irritated, but otherwise calm.

Sanji pushed up to his elbows briefly, before looking uncomfortable, eyeing the handcuffs still trapping his wrist, and he eventually sat up entirely, glaring at Zoro all the while.

Well, good. Let him be uncomfortable. Punishment for fucking _stealing._

“It’s your fault you’re a prisoner,” Zoro muttered, sitting up too with a loud yawn and an obnoxious stretch of his arms that wrenched the blond’s wrist up painfully.

He heard a scoff from the blond, but ignored it, glancing over to see all of his weapons still scattered on the floor in the center of the room, unmoved from where they’d fallen last night.

Time to put them back on.

Another yawn and he pulled back his shirt collar, giving it a sniff to determine if it was wearable again. Not that he had many clothes to choose from, but the odor wasn’t too bad, nor was the one under his armpit, the man uncaring of his company, currently gaping at him with absolute disgust.

 _“Yes,_ you _do_ smell, you neanderthal!” Sanji squawked, Zoro rolling his eyes in response. “I know showers are hard to come by these days, but the least you could do is find a river and dunk yourself in it! And preferably _don’t come up!”_

“Fine, then you’re comin’ too, ‘cause you’re not gettin’ out of these handcuffs,” Zoro replied.

A few cracks of his neck and back, unnecessary, but he figured it would annoy the blond, so he did it. Then he was getting to his feet, tugging the guy with him until he could scramble to his feet as well.

As soon as he gave another tug in order to crouch down and pick up his first gun, Sanji gave a hard yank back to prevent him from reaching them.

“Hey! No fucking way are you arming yourself! Not unless you give me mine back!” he insisted, but Zoro instantly scowled.

“Maybe I was _gonna,_ asshole!” he hissed, letting Sanji pull him until he was in range to grab the blond by the shirt collar, dragging him across to one of the backpacks that lay on the opposite end of the room.

There was little resistance though when he pulled him, the blond stumbling after him with sudden surprise.

“Whoa, whoa, wait….” he jabbered as Zoro bent down to unzip the weathered backpack, wrenching open the top to reveal Sanji’s set of weapons nestled over what looked like poorly-folded clothes. “You’re...seriously gonna….?”

Zoro didn’t wait, merely picked up one of the guns and held it up to pass to Sanji, shaking his hand insistently when the blond didn’t take it right away.

“You wanted them, right? M’not afraid of you.”

Eventually, after a rather baffled moment, he felt fingers slip around the butt, removing the small pistol from his grasp.

Zoro crouched there for a moment, ears pricked for the sound of the weapon cocking, ready to react should the blond quickly point the thing at him.

He waited to see if he was different….

A few breaths, but he heard nothing save for Sanji slipping the gun slowly back inside his own jacket, as he’d figured.

He smirked.

Then, and only then, did he reach inside the backpack and pass over Sanji’s remaining pistol, as well as his revolver. All were nice weapons, sturdy, and sleek. No doubt valuable. In fact, they looked new, but that wasn’t much of a surprise considering where the man had come from.

If there was one thing Obsidian Shadow knew how to do, it was weapons. Whether they still had access to Judge’s old factories was somewhat of a myth, but it wouldn’t surprise Zoro if it turned out to be true.

Sanji slowly secured them to their rightful places, the pistol in his jacket as well, and the revolver back at his hip, all the while staring at Zoro like he’d just willingly gifted him his faction’s entire food stores.

Zoro straightened, still weaponless, and turned himself towards the blond, holding out his hands, almost in invitation for him to do some sort of damage. Sanji would have to be stupid not to take it.

Nothing, the blond just staring at him, narrowing eyes slightly and shaking his head. 

Yup, Sanji was stupid.

“You’re a weird guy, Zoro…” was all he muttered, something that had said ‘weird guy’ scoff.

Right. Like this skinny blond who hardly looked equipped to _play_ at survival was any better. He’d passed up a chance to kill him. Like he stood any chance on his own, outside the safety of his faction. Even with those fancy guns.

Zoro had confidence that, even as he bent down to retrieve his own weapons, back still turned to the blond, Sanji wouldn’t shoot him, _couldn’t_ shoot him. He could try, but it wouldn’t work.

Except he _wasn’t_ trying, and Zoro honestly wasn’t sure what to make of it. Even as Zoro pushed aside his vest, secured his own weapons to their respective holsters, taking special care to brush fingers over his white pistol, the blond didn’t move, just stood there, allowing his arm to be shifted around as Zoro moved.

Maybe he was planning some sneak attack, which Zoro had to admit would make things more interesting than simply lugging around a compliant prisoner all day.... If the latter was the case, he might start to feel a little _bad_ about holding the guy captive, and that just wouldn’t fucking do. Zoro Roronoa didn’t feel _bad_ about punishing people who’d wronged him.

Not anymore, at least.

“Come on,” Zoro said, once he’d finished returning his weapons. He began leading Sanji across the small room, towards the garage-style door pulled down to the floor. “Bathroom’s this way. You gotta go?”

Zoro had to smirk at how quickly the blond paled.

“Oh, _hell no!”_ he screeched, and Zoro nearly laughed out loud when Sanji’s voice jumped up to near falsetto range. “Not unless you’re planning on uncuffing me!”

“M’not.”

“Then _hell no!”_

“Suit yourself,” Zoro muttered over his shoulder. Then he leaned down to grab ahold of the metal handle attached near the bottom of the door, pulling until the contraption started to slide up along a track on the ceiling, squeaking its rusty protest all the while.

A horizontal line of light drew itself on the floor, growing in height slowly as the sunny morning began to fully flood the room.

Zoro didn’t know the exact time, but it was obvious how late it was. Normally, he didn’t open the door to blinding sunshine, only the faint purple beginnings of daybreak slithering in, if that.

Normally, he didn’t open the door to a bloodcurdling scream either.

_“AAAAAHHHH!!!!”_

“What the _fuck?!”_ Sanji yelped immediately, Zoro merely pausing with the door half open to roll his eyes.

He used his cuffed hand to thump Sanji _hard_ in the chest to keep him reaching for a gun automatically.

 _“Don’t you dare,”_ he hissed in the blond’s face menacingly, then shoved the door up the rest of the way calmly, eyes adjusting to the bright light to find the scream’s owner to be exactly who he’d assumed.

It was Usopp, his trusty sniper, silhouetted in the sun, there just outside the door. He was frozen in mid-flight, one leg poised to run, arms thrown over his torso and face to shield himself from danger.

It took him a moment, but eventually, Usopp seemed to come to his senses, let out the breath he’d apparently been holding, and slowly relaxed, pressing a gloved hand to his chest and his thundering heart.

“Don’t _do_ that, man! I was just about to knock!” Usopp muttered, brushing a few black curls from his face and tucking them back beneath his bandana. He wasn’t afraid of garage doors! Hell no!

Of course, that was when he noticed the strange blond standing beside Zoro--- _inside his hut_ \---and he froze again, this time in confusion.

Sure, Zoro’s closest confidantes had been inside his meager living quarters, but why the hell would someone be coming out with him _in the morning?_

Zoro hadn’t been outside. No one had seen him yet! That was why Usopp had come to check on him! So who was this strange guy emerging with him now…?

Usopp didn’t recognize the lanky blond, who squinted sulkily (or was it warily) out at the world. Was he a civilian in their faction?

But no.There was no way. Usopp knew everyone. There were only ninety-three of them, and he knew them all by name. This had to be an outsider….

He wasn’t _too_ scary-looking, for an outsider, at least. Aside from his furrowed brow, he actually looked pretty nice, with blue eyes that managed to look kind, non-judgmental somehow, and features that didn’t seem hardened by combat or murder or anything terrifying like that.

So Usopp was able to gulp back some of the fear that had quaked through him, puff out his chest a bit, and ask a perfectly normal, “W-Who’s this?” with only minimal vocal trembling.

“A prisoner,” Zoro stated, lifting his and the stranger’s handcuffed wrists. “Caught him trying to make off with some of our food last night. He didn’t get far ‘fore I knocked him out.”

“I have a name, you know!” the blond piped up.

“Shut up,” Zoro shot back, then quirked a brow at his ever-so-diligent sniper. “Anyway, dunno how he managed to get past _you,_ Usopp.”

“Eheh!”

A nervous laugh escaped the dark-haired man, sweat already beading on his skin the instant Zoro detailed the intruder’s attempts. It wasn’t like he’d fallen asleep over his sketchpad last night! Hell no! He’d been watching the gates the whole time!

“Th-That’s silly! No one gets past me! The great Captain Usopp! Leader of the most fearsome faction known to man!” he justified, jamming a thumb to his chest with false pride.

A pause to see if either of the two were going to protest.

But no one was stopping him. He was only met with a deadpan look from Zoro and a rather baffled expression on the blond’s face.

It was quiet, save for a few birds chirping in the distance, oblivious to the strife of the humans. And oblivious to how awkward they were making the moment.

So he continued, mostly to fill that silence, wiping some sweat off his brow.

“I-I mean---we’re talking---more tactical than the stealthy Raven Outlaw!” he blabbered, waving hands about grandly. “Better at negotiations than the roguish Crimson Void! And certainly better than that stupid Obsidian Shadow at _everything!_ Hehehe…! I mean---that name! What else is a shadow gonna be---? Gold? It’s like----y’know---uhh…”

He trailed off, noticing the broad, almost creepy grin that had spread over Zoro’s face, and the look of growing fury on the blond’s.

Zoro snickered, stepped forward, dragging his prisoner, and patted Usopp’s shoulder as he moved past him.

“Good point,” he said proudly, hitching a thumb over his shoulder. “This asshole’s from Obsidian Shadow. Come on, Curly Brow. Got rounds to make.”

For the third time in hardly five minutes, the sniper froze, a terrified smile on his face, long nose twitching as the man _from Obsidian Shadow_ stumbled past him with an intimidating glare that could surely shatter glass.

“Usopp, s’all good,” Zoro called back, just to relieve the other man from his misery. “You can head back to the tower if you want.”

“R-Roger that!” the sniper quickly agreed, and then he was off, sprinting across the barren grounds as if his life depended on it, feet kicking up a cloud of dirt as he went.

Zoro smirked to himself at his friend’s antics, the smirk growing when the furious grinding of Sanji’s teeth became practically audible.

“Stop calling me ‘Curly Brow,’ you damn mosshead!” growled the blond. “I guess there really is nothing civilized left in the world if you’ve got all your men programmed to insult other factions at the drop of a fucking hat!”

Zoro merely shrugged, hardly paying attention as he directed his gaze out to the blocks of tiny broken buildings that just barely managed to stand in rows farther down the dirt path. The civilians’ barracks, literally reduced to huts at this point.

Franky had done his best to fix them up with limited tools when they’d first taken control of the ruins of the camp, makeshift brick and mortar jobs, but there wasn’t much they could do with hardly any supplies and weather conditions that weren’t kind.

Even if Nami could help them prepare with her skilled predictions, the fact remained that flimsy tarp still fluttered and waved where roofs should have been, and cool winds still invaded rickety walls.

Zoro’s abode had been the most intact of all the buildings, following the Government’s attacks, so many years ago. And there wasn’t a day that went by where he didn’t feel guilty about accepting his comparatively luxurious garage.

“Oh, yeah,” he muttered, forcing himself out of his thoughts before he lost focus on the task at hand. Protecting his people. “Can’t let you see nothin’.”

Even if his prisoner wasn’t escaping him, there was still no telling what would happen if secrets about his faction _somehow_ leaked. He wasn’t trusting this guy for a second.

So he pulled his bandana from his pocket, brought it right up to Sanji’s eyes, the blond realizing what he was doing a second too late. He tried to dance away, but Zoro caught him, quickly securing the makeshift blindfold over his eyes.

“Nice try, idiot,” Sanji muttered, already reaching up with his free hand to remove it, but Zoro caught his wrist swiftly, produced a second pair of handcuffs from a clip inside his vest and secured Sanji’s other hand to his right wrist as well.

He grinned smugly, proud of his own resourcefulness.

 _“Nice try, idiot,”_ he mockingly whispered, close to Sanji’s ear, just to freak him out, his prisoner predictably cringing and struggling to be free.

He ignored the constant tugs on his arm and the annoying cursing in favor of starting off towards the civilian section of the base, shoving both hands casually in his vest pockets, nearly having to stuff Sanji’s hands in as well, but he managed.

Eventually, the irritant began to kick blindly at his ankles, as if he could topple him that easily. Honestly, it was just like taking an ornery dog for a walk. He would’ve preferred an actual dog though.

“This---is--- _humiliating_ \----dammit!” the man gritted out with each attempted kick, nearly falling flat on his face when Zoro took an unexpected hard turn. “The least you could do is give me one of my cigarettes!”

“Oh, those,” Zoro mumbled absently, trying to remember which was the large stone that he always recognized pointing the way to their sorry excuse for a mess hall.

That rock. The brown one. There it was, next to another identical brown rock and a patch of ugly weeds. He didn’t want to go that way. So another abrupt turn.

Oh right, the cigarettes.

“Yeah, I took those.”

_“WHAT?!”_

The furious kicking increased tenfold, as did the cursing.

Zoro merely snickered. He didn’t even smoke himself, but it was still fun to think about the pack of sweet, coveted nicotine currently nestled in the pocket of his jeans. Nicotine was for the weak, anyway.

“You better _fucking_ give them back to me,” the blond seethed, glaring heatedly at Zoro, even through his blindfold.

“That depends on how you behave. You piss me off? You’re not getting them back. Simple.”

Sanji could just _feel_ the smirk radiating off the man.

He had never wanted so badly to punch someone in the face before, but this guy was _really_ testing his fucking patience. He was helpless. And he hated it. With these damn handcuffs around his wrists, he had no other option but to oblige to the asshole.

 _“Fine,”_ he gritted out, his teeth grinding harshly.

With that, he was once again being tugged along. He could tell he was walking along rubbled ground, the small pebbles being crushed by their boots as they did so.

Then they halted only for a second, before he felt the cuffs digging into his skin once more when he was dragged through what he assumed was a doorway.

He was instantly met with the sound of voices from people scattered all around a room. Talking, laughing, he heard it all. Did the voices belong to the civilians of this place?

He let himself be pulled until he was finally guided onto what felt like a stool.

“Hey, Nami, everyone served?”

He heard Zoro’s voice question an unknown individual.

“Yeah, just about finished. You’re all that’s le---who’s this?”

His ears perked. It was _a woman’s voice._

“He’s just some idiot who thought it was smart to raid _our_ faction,” Zoro bit out.

Sanji held his tongue, refraining him from using any type of foul language—that he so badly wanted to spit out—in front of the lovely-sounding woman.

He only scowled. 

The woman—Nami—laughed.

“Wasn’t worth it, huh, buddy? Don’t be so mean to the guy, Zoro. At least let him see.”

Then, he felt a soft brushing of fingers behind his head and found himself staring into big brown eyes, as the bandana was removed.

“There we go.” She smiled at him.

A fucking _goddess_ was standing right before his eyes. The woman had long, orange locks held into a ponytail, soft-looking pale skin, and wore a black tank top along with some green camouflage-printed jeans.

To be granted such a beauty made him feel unbelievably lucky to have chosen this faction to raid, with the good fortune of being captured as well.

There were women in his faction, but hardly any young ones, mostly all had been mothers and already had a family to maintain. He couldn’t bring himself to flirt with them.

It irritated him beyond belief that such a girl was in a faction with this damn mosshead as leader.

“Thank you, mademoiselle. My name’s Sanji, by the way. I’m so terribly sorry we were destined to meet under these circumstances.” He smiled apologetically, lifting his cuffed wrists in presentation.

 _“Nami._ I can’t leave him without the blindfold,” Zoro grumbled in annoyance. “He’s gonna go telling his stupid faction just how Emerald works.”

“Oh, come _on._ What is he going to tell them? That we eat _food?”_ she asked sarcastically, shooting him a glare. “Nice to meet you, Sanji~ Ignore this idiot.”

Sanji laughed at that, resulting in Zoro sending him a glower, the blond adjusting himself in his seat, trying to retain himself from laughing any more.

Nami rolled her eyes. “You’re so complicated, Zoro.”

“What? I’m just trying to protect everyone, Nami!”

“Well, it seems you’ve got everything under control with those ridiculous _handcuffs…”_

She turned to shoot an apologetic look at the seated blond, who, judging by the lovestruck expression on his face, hardly seemed intimidating. After all, Zoro hadn’t killed him yet. That had to mean something. The idiot was a better judge of character than he liked to lead on.

Besides, she knew _real_ thieves. And she also knew that desperation sometimes led good people to do bad things…

Thankfully, desperation did not plague the people of Emerald Peak that day, as it seemed the voices filling the mess hall behind them were rather amiable and relaxed, all things considered. It was certainly a different atmosphere than Obsidian Shadow...more homey almost, despite the rough circumstances.

Sanji turned around in his stool and was able to see from whom the voices were coming. His assumption was right.

Men, women, and children were all scattered across the mess hall, each one seated at their own rickety table, all engaged in conversation.

Some had noticed them walk in and were whispering to each other, a few pointing, mostly at Sanji, while others seemed to be excited that Zoro had arrived and smiled his way.

“You better not be planning on hurting them. I’ll kill you before you do.”

Sanji jumped in his seat and turned to look at the man, who was staring at him with a threatening look, sipping casually out of a straw from a drink Nami must’ve handed him when he was distracted.

“I---I wouldn’t---”

“Tch, whatever,” Zoro deadpanned and looked away.

Sanji felt a little misled at that. He gaped at the side of Zoro’s head for a few moments, until Nami broke the tense silence.

“Don’t mind him. Zoro’s a bit over-protective.”

She waved it off, and also handed Sanji a drink. He found it quite a bit odd how nice she was being, despite knowing he could be a potential threat.

Still, he smiled at her.

“Thank you, lovely.”

He made the motion to grab it until he realized—to his annoyance—that he was hardly going to be able to do _anything_ with these stupid cuffs on.

And he wasn’t going to just bend his head over and sip like some fucking dog.

“Hey. Asshole. At least let one of my hands go, will you?” he spat.

Zoro ignored him.

“Not gonna happen.”

“You _fucker—!”_

He was interrupted when a feminine hand stretched out in front of Zoro abruptly, palm faced up.

 _“Hand them over,”_ Nami ordered sternly.

Sanji thought Zoro was going to brush her off as he did him, but to his surprise, the man fished the key from his vest pocket and held it out to her obediently, though he looked as though he didn’t want to.

She grinned in victory and grabbed it happily.

“I’m not going to listen to you two fighting, but I will give Zoro the benefit of the doubt… I can’t trust you just yet either.”

As she said this, she unlocked _one_ of Sanji’s cuffs and handed the key back to Zoro.

Sanji nodded at her in a grateful silence and sipped his drink as well, the fresh feel of water soothing his parched throat.

“Well, why don’t I serve you both some food?” She beamed at the two, then disappeared towards the back.

Sanji couldn’t help but glance back at the other man, who only glared at the air in front of him, then at their linked wrists, making him sigh in frustration. Just how long was he going to keep him like this?

“Here ya go, guys,” Nami said, returning with two plates, handing one to each.

“Thanks, Nami,” Zoro muttered in reply, sending her a tiny smile before digging in, slightly tugging on Sanji’s arm as he did so.

Sanji ignored this and only stared at the food he was presented with.

_Eggs, pancakes, and bacon._

Breakfast. The mission should have been a success. He should have been back home right now cooking for _his_ people.

Instead, he was here on enemy territory about to have fucking breakfast, while the people at Obsidian Shadow were close to not having food at all.

He felt sick.

“Hey, just where does all your food come from?” he asked curiously, looking up at Nami in hope of an answer.

But before she could say anything, the mosshead butted in.

“Just be happy you got some, Curly Brow. Nami’s too damn nice. I’d have let you starve.”

For the millionth time that day, Sanji gave the man another glare, then turned to Nami, who only shrugged at him, also refusing to answer his question.

Sanji sighed, supposing it had been worth a shot. Full of dread, he cut his pancake and took a bite, his mind wandering to just _how_ the old man was going to kill him if he was able to escape this place and go back home.

* * *

**_Obsidian Shadow Faction_ **

* * *

Her little brother was dead, that was for sure.

First, that weird display at dinner, when he’d gotten up and left in a hurry without eating so much as a bite of his food. He’d given her that look, that small shake of his head. 

That morning, breakfast had been meager, even more so than usual.

And now Sanji was nowhere to be seen.

They were low on food, weren’t they. There was no other explanation. Nothing else would make her brother freak out like that.

The civilians especially had missed him. Sanji was perhaps the only one who could bring them together.

They missed his smile, and his way of serving that made everyone feel as if they were dining at one of those restaurant places that had been abundant before the government attacks. The adults remembered restaurants more than Reiju and her brothers. Some of the children had _never_ experienced them.

But if only for mealtime, Sanji made them feel as if they weren’t outside in a barren courtyard, often under a billowing tarp that did little to protect several dozen people from wind or rain.

Zeff had owned a restaurant though, something her father had likely forgotten, partnering with his weapons manufacturing company, and that alone.

It was clearly something Zeff had divulged to her brother, who was always seen flitting about with such pleasant positivity at serving times that his absence was felt now, and the concern was palpable.

When the fifth person had asked Reiju if Sanji was ill that morning as she passed through the courtyard, she’d made her way to the east tower.

And now she stood in the doorway to his empty room.

A shiver ran down her spine as she stared hard at the gray space, the iron bars over the window, reminders of the fort’s days as a prison, letting in the morning light, but little warmth. She pulled the collar of her worn jean jacket up around her neck, crossing arms over her chest to try and warm them.

Their father hadn’t been worried about his absence at dinner the night before, and neither had their brothers. In fact, the four of them had seemed relieved to lose the silent, sulky presence that always attended their meals, but never engaged. The blond whom they barely tolerated, barely considered one of them anymore, even if he bore the strongest resemblance to the one they’d _all_ adored.

It hadn’t always been like this….

Reiju sighed, noting the suitcases on the floor beneath the cot, one partially open….the imprints where weapons should be.

The last time this had happened, he’d gone on a solo hunting mission. Come back with a few deer, sure, but also a few broken ribs...

It was no use. No amount of staring would discern where her brother was, or make him come back from wherever he’d run off to.

It was unlike her to worry about him. And she wasn’t worrying, she told herself as she turned on her heel and made her way across the dimly lit hallway, back down the narrow tower stairs and out the heavy wooden door, into the sunlight again.

The courtyard was emptying out, parents ushering the few children who lived within their faction’s walls back inside, to the south wing, where Reiju knew they made their makeshift homes inside some of the more spacious cell blocks.

Zeff had insisted upon it, that the children and elderly especially be assured living space inside the most insulated wings, the ones that still had glass windows intact.

Her father had agreed, provided he and his family take residence in the warden’s quarters, the north tower all to themselves.

She remembered feeling glad about it at first, a spoiled thirteen-year-old who longed for the comforts of her old bedroom and could surely never tolerate a _prison cell._

Now she’d hardened herself to the guilt her privilege wrought.

She had duties to attend to. She should be checking the antidote stock as she’d promised her father the night before, newly traded in just the previous day from a few rebel Gatecrashers who’d succumbed to the temptation of some handy grenades. Grenades that had unfortunately exploded within their very truck as they drove away. A tragic coincidence, as Father had mused.

Instead, her boots echoed off the stone walls all the way through the heavy doors to the west wing, the formerly administrative block from which her father conducted all of his “business.” At least, what “business” there was left to conduct in these lawless times.

This was also where they’d eaten last night, where their food stores and kitchen were, and she knew, as she wove deep into the cavernous halls, down the dark stairs to the basement, that she wouldn’t find her brother.

She was no longer looking for him.

Reiju placed a hand on the basement door, chipped paint flaking off, which she wiped onto her black jeans before giving a push, opening it to find Patty, Carne, and her father’s right-hand man himself, standing together in the claustrophobic room. Three of them. Not four.

Patty and Carne looked surprised to see her, brows raising to the ceiling, but Zeff merely turned to fix her with his usual calculating stare, between bushy eyebrows and an even bushier mustache.

“He ran,” was all she said, pushing a hip against the door to keep it open.

Zeff grunted in response, clearly not shocked by Reiju’s deductive reasoning, and not afraid of the potential repercussions this could have for the foolish eggplant should his father find out. The girl was unlikely to rat him out, after all.

“Yeah,” the old man admitted. “Took a bike.”

“A bike,” she repeated with a scoff of disbelief and a small shake of her head. “And just how much food did he think he was going to load onto that, even with the side cars? Was he using his brain _at all…?”_

Zeff merely grunted again. It was no use criticizing the brat’s brash panic-fueled decisions when he was likely already regretting them, wherever he was.

“I’m giving him till tonight,” the man grumbled eventually. “If he’s not back after dinner, I’m takin’ a jeep.”

Reiju leveled him with a cool gaze, sensing the determination and concern in this man that hadn’t been there in her father. Not since her mother’s death.

Perhaps it was cruel to be jealous of Sanji, who’d become so reviled by their father and brothers, but who’d also become so revered in the eyes of this man, whose eyes now watched her in challenge, as if she would try and stop him from going after Sanji.

“If he’s not back after dinner, I’m coming with you,” she said to Zeff, now challenging _him_ to stop _her._

Perhaps their father didn’t hate her, but she couldn’t always say she had his love.

There was one thing for sure. He never looked at her with even a flicker of the subtle warmth and gratitude that flashed over Zeff’s face.

* * *

**_Somewhere within the East Blue ruins_ **

* * *

_“Boss! Boss!”_

The loud creak of metal sounded in the room as the heavy doors pushed their way in, slamming shut a few seconds later after the two Gatecrashers tumbled in.

“Whaddya want?”

Blackbeard sat at his usual seat, made as if for a king, which he basically proclaimed himself as. He set down the blade he was sharpening and looked up to stare at the two with a bored expression. The fact that one of them was injured didn’t seem to worry him in the slightest.

The non-injured one stood right before his chair, holding up his fellow Gatecrasher beside him with his arm slung over his shoulder. The man’s head was wrapped in bandages, blood still seeping through, while a sling was the only thing supporting his left arm.

Grossly-colored bruises aligned his face, mostly covering his cheeks, small, fresh ones decorating his jaw. As a matter of fact, he looked horrible.

“Roronoa and Straw Hat beat up four of our men, killed one of them,” he said desperately, looking for any type of help from his Leader.

“And? What do you want me to do about it?” Blackbeard asked coldly, making the two men’s eyes widen in fear. “They’re injured. They’re useless. Kill the rest.”

“B-But, Boss--”

“You’re wasting my time. _Leave.”_

“They took some containers of medicine we had--”

Blackbeard froze, jaw and fist clenching, the words processing through him.

 _“What?”_ he strained furiously.

The two men gulped.

“T-They took some of our medicine. We’re v-very sorry, Boss.”

His fists unclenched and a wicked grin spread across his face, slowly.

_“Well, we’ll just have to get them back then, won’t we? Zeehahahaha….”_


	3. Perspective

* * *

“Wrench….”

No response.

“Wrench.”

Nothing.

“Oi! Are you listening? I said _wrench.”_

“Get it yourself.”

“Urgh!”

This was how the past forty-five minutes had gone, handcuffed to the stupid blond bastard who refused to help with _anything._

After breakfast, where he’d actually displayed a _glimmer_ of kindness, if only towards Nami, the greedy witch who hardly deserved it half the time, Zoro had slapped the blindfold back on him and dragged him to the other end of the camp, to the garages where he didn’t risk giving _too_ much away about their faction, save for what trucks and motorcycles they had.

It wasn’t many, though they’d procured more from Rayleigh over the past year or so, but when Zoro had first set off on his own, made it to the abandoned camp, he’d come with only seven people. It had been him in a pick-up with Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper in the cramped back row and far too much energy.

Franky, their resident mechanic, had followed in a larger one, with his girlfriend, Robin—a brilliant researcher; Nami—cartographer extraordinaire, and Brook, a great musician and even better friend who’d lived an entire lifetime before the world had broken apart.

The stories he told of freedom, of buildings with real walls, warmth and air conditioning, of supermarkets stocked full, and beautiful wealthy cities where the possibilities were endless….

They were things that were fleeting memories for most of them, fading quickly with childhood and with the hope that those in the Grand Line would help their country.

Robin always said that the rest of the world was aware of what had happened in East Blue. That there were relief efforts put forth, and yet none had found their way to them.

Zoro vaguely remembered TV commercials from when he was little, with depressing shots of starving children, barren landscapes, and dried-up rivers, all while a celebrity walked calmly through the dilapidated streets, urging people to donate money….

He knew he’d be kicking the ass of any foreign bastard who tried to pull that shit in East Blue. If the Government would even let someone like that in….

It was them against the world. The Government had deemed itself oppressive and never looked back. And though Zoro had left Rayleigh’s compound with a small number of people, looking to lessen the supplies burden, his group had grown to the dozens Emerald Peak had now, and why _he’d_ been chosen as their leader he’d never know, when he had hardly any of the charisma Luffy had, wasn’t even a fraction as smart as Nami or Robin.

But he would take whatever burdens that brought, and that included lugging around stupid blond intruders all day if it meant protecting the people for whom he was responsible.

Zoro gave a rough yank on Sanji’s hand, with the intention of slamming him into the open hood of the truck he was currently checking, eager to wipe that bored, indifferent look off his face as he did nothing but lean there against the front bumper, left arm limp as Zoro worked.

Sanji seemed ready though, because he braced himself with his right hand and used the momentum to lift a flexible leg, swing it around, and nail Zoro in the middle of his back with the hard toe of his boot.

“Ow, what the fuck!” Zoro yelped stupidly, nearly falling face first into the tangled mess of metal parts inside the car. If the idiot blond slammed the hood on top of him, he’d murder him right there in cold blood.

“Quit demanding shit of me!” Sanji screeched, even though the tool box was resting on top of the engine right in front of him, hardly a _demanding_ task to take out a fucking wrench. “This is _your_ job, not mine!”

“This is your punishment, dammit!” Zoro justified. “I said you’re not leaving my sight so make yourself useful or I’ll kill you!”

“M’gonna die of boredom before you even finish!” Sanji complained dramatically. “Or freeze to death! It’s fucking cold in here!”

“Cry a _little_ louder,” Zoro snapped through gritted teeth. “You’ve got no right to complain when _you’re_ the one who—”

“Alright, alright, _we know,”_ Sanji shot back, clearly done with Zoro’s shit as he turned his back to Zoro and automatically fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette….before remembering he _didn’t have them._ Fuck this.

Zoro glared at him for a long moment, then gave an annoyed snort and grabbed a wrench out of the tool box himself, pulling Sanji’s wrist extra hard as he dove back into his work.

Sanji decided to ignore him once more, instead letting his eyes drift around the garage.

It was big, and rather well-maintained given the circumstances. It could probably fit ten vehicles, side by side, and indeed there were several pick-up trucks and jeeps lined up, in various states of repair.

Clearly, whoever maintained them knew what they were doing, and judging by the fact that Zoro had been turning the same knobs and screws the whole time they’d been there (or so it looked to the blond), Sanji had to imagine it wasn’t him in charge of this shit.

He said nothing though, instead calculating how much effort it would take to steal one of these and drive it back to Obsidian Shadow.

He could catch Zoro off-guard, whip a leg around and give him a good crack to the back of the head, knock him out as the bastard had done to him the previous night.

Then he’d have to drag him around until he found a saw….or search him for the handcuff key, something he did _not_ have any interest in doing.

Even if he did manage to escape, managed to hijack a car, got it _started,_ and made it out of the camp without being apprehended, well….that would still leave him with the shame of returning to his own faction without food. Nothing would await him but a harsh reprimanding...or worse...

It wasn’t fair. Why should he be punished for trying to _help?_ When no one else had done a fucking thi—?

“So how bad is it…?”

Zoro’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and Sanji didn’t understand why. Didn’t Zoro want nothing to do with him? Weren’t they enemies? Why the fuck was the idiot trying to make _conversation?_

Sanji knew what he was talking about, but didn’t answer, merely kept his gaze stubbornly fixed on a tool bench against the wall, thinking about all the creative ways he could get rid of this bastard if he so wanted. Those screwdrivers looked enticing…

_“Oi.”_

Zoro nudged him with his elbow, as if he _deserved_ an answer, and when Sanji still didn’t reply, just rolled his eyes, the blond had to admit he was a little satisfied at the frustrated growl that left the mosshead.

“I’m just _asking….”_ Zoro muttered sulkily, whipping his bandana (the same one he’d been using to blindfold Sanji) off his arm and reaching in to wipe some grease off the truck’s engine with it. “‘Cause if it was _that bad_ in your faction, maybe I’d be willing to help out. Thought maybe Judge would finally be willing to make trade agreements if he’s that desperate—”

“We don’t trade,” Sanji snipped over his shoulder, only then noticing the grease-soaked bandana with horror. “Oh, that is _not_ going back on my face, you pig!”

“It will if I _want it to—”_ Zoro gritted back childishly, and straightened to snap the fabric at Sanji’s face, splattering some foul oily substance onto his cheek. “Why don’t you trade anyway! It’s like you guys don’t _wanna_ cooperate with the rest of us! Aren’t we in this together?”

“Where the hell do you get that rosy idea?” the blond growled, wiping his face frantically. “It was _Rayleigh_ who left _us_ out of his agreements! And I know all of you split from White Amnesty!”

“What are you talking about? It’s obvious Judge is a shitty Government dog! It’s no fucking wonder with all the damn weapons you’re—!”

“A _Government_ dog?! Look, pal, if that were the case, we’d be living in a fucking palace by now, and not scrounging up the last of our rice just to—”

The cook’s eyes widened and he hastily cut himself off, snapping his mouth shut and turning away, embarrassed to find that, at some point, he’d gotten right up in the other man’s face, close enough to practically mingle breath.

Zoro stared at him hard.

So his faction really was on its last leg….

Zoro had seen that look in the blond’s eye, that flash of fire and _fear_ above all else, and whether Judge worked with the Government or not, there was still something very real and very troubling happening in Obsidian Shadow.

Zoro had never considered himself to be a particularly empathetic person, especially not now. He was protective of those he cared about, immensely so, but even as a leader, he didn’t see himself as kind. He did what needed to be done, upheld his responsibilities. Nothing more…and nothing less.

But, of course, that was his own view of himself, and the third man who’d just entered upon the argument knew otherwise.

Franky caught the tail end of the dispute, impossible not to with all the yelling, as he ducked under one of the half-open garage doors and immediately zeroed in on the pained look on his leader’s face. That concern and indecision was easy to see, crystal clear for someone who’d known Zoro for years, that familiar look that showed the “heartless” Zoro Roronoa was mislabeled. That look that showed a hidden _desire_ to help people he’d never met, even people that lived in a hostile, uncooperative faction.

Franky had a smirk on his face as he crossed over to the two, gave a pat to the hood of his favorite red jeep as he passed it, admiring the good polish job he’d given her the day before.

He forced himself to tear away from his own super reflection in the shiny metal after a minute, finally coming up beside Zoro, who’d shot him a look the second he heard the slap of flip-flops on the concrete floor. They were so ratty, duct taped in places, the taller man might as well have gone barefoot.

“There you are, Zoro-bro~ So this is the prisoner, huh?” Franky said, tugging down his sunglasses to get a better look, and flashing a friendly grin. “Funny. Way Usopp described him, thought we’d be stuck with some crazy monster~”

Sanji scoffed, not enjoying the fact that he had to look up _and up_ at this stranger, who wore the most ridiculous cut-off jean shorts that were very nearly underwear they were so short, and an open tropical-printed shirt that looked like something straight out of two decades ago. How the man managed to look comfortable when it was clearly too cold for that summery get-up was beyond him.

That didn’t even cover his long flop of blue hair that was slicked back on the sides, with engine grease for all Sanji knew, hair products as rare as they were.

He said nothing, just stood there trying to look as dignified as he could manage, handcuffed to a patch of grass.

“Name’s Franky,” said the man, reaching out a large hand towards Sanji, who stared at it sulkily for a second, but eventually reached out to take it reluctantly.

Franky proceeded to give it a vigorous shake, enough that Sanji had to scowl and yank his hand away before the guy tore it off.

“Sanji, right? That’s what Nami said. Interesting name,” Franky jabbered on, wiggling eyebrows at the blond, who narrowed his eyes warily. “I’m the mechanic around here. Zoro-bro’s been my little apprentice lately. Teachin’ him maintenance stuff. He’s not a natural, but he’ll get there.”

A wink at the mosshead, who looked thoroughly mortified, much to Sanji’s silent amusement.

“Anyway, I took a look at your bike,” Franky continued. “You’re lucky you stopped here. Any farther and you’da run out of fuel!”

Sanji sorely wished he had a cigarette to roll irritably between his lips in that moment.

“Lemme guess, you’re not filling it up for me as part of my punishment,” the blond muttered bitterly, but Franky frowned in response, tilting his head quizzically.

“Nah, she’s good to go. We got a pretty good store here. Gave the tires some air too and tightened up the sidecar. Why would we punish—?”

Eyes flicked to Zoro then, his mouth forming a small ‘O’ of realization.

“Ahhh, I gotcha. Zoro-bro have ya in time-out or somethin’?” He chuckled. “Well, just be patient. If he didn’t kill you yet, it means he likes ya~”

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me, Franky?” Zoro hissed, ears tinted a brilliant red, but the older man merely laughed and patted a large hand on his shoulder.

Sanji watched the exchange with the same stony expression, but he couldn’t help but notice something odd about it. In fact, there was something different about everyone here, and the way they’d conversed with Zoro.

The long-nose scaredy-cat he’d run into first had seemed respectful and rather subservient, but the way Zoro had looked at him was fond, almost like a younger brother.

The gorgeous woman in the mess hall had even called Zoro an idiot, teased him and urged Sanji not to take him seriously. She hadn’t been intimidated by him in the least, despite the brooding glares he shot her way, an absolutely brutish show of disrespect to such a beautiful creation of nature. He’d never resented Zoro more than the moment he put that blindfold back on him, leaving Sanji with but the memory of Nami’s glowing skin and dulcet voice.

And now there was this man, who seemed damn comfortable with embarrassing his _leader_ of all people, and Zoro wasn’t doing shit about it. He wasn’t ordering him to spend a night in the dungeon, wasn’t threatening him, pulling a gun and making him back off.

Sanji realized, with a rather painful clench of his chest, that the people of Emerald Peak treated Zoro, their leader, like _family,_ or a close friend at the very least. There was genuine care here, despite how much Zoro seemed dead set on playing the unfeeling card.

In a way, Sanji had assumed real love had been lost in this world, all those years ago when the chaos had erupted. When suddenly, his world had changed and he’d been carted off by his family amidst violent attacks on the city, away from his mother, whom he could barely remember now, save for the sterile smell of a hospital, her pale skin nearly translucent in the harsh overhead lights…

Or maybe it had been a dream…. He remembered sleeping...a lot….. And hurting….

“You alright there, bro?”

Sanji blinked, the sound of quickening breaths in his ear that, in reality, belonged to him. His hand was clutching at his stomach as if some phantom pain had taken hold, and both Zoro and Franky were staring at him.

“I’m fine,” he muttered automatically, wanting more than anything to tear away from the two and get the hell out.

Instead, he mumbled the first thought that came to his mind, that seemed to consume him suddenly with urgency. He shouldn’t be here. He should be getting back, with _food._

Fuck, he needed food.

“Look, I’ll give you whatever you want, just let me take food,” he all but hissed out quickly, and his tone was desperate enough that it caught Zoro off-guard.

Gone was the stoic demeanor he’d been trying so hard to keep up, even in the face of questioning, replaced with an almost pleading tone. The blond had started to sweat as well, his face pale, and Zoro didn’t understand the change.

He heard Franky shift uncomfortably beside him, like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t, knowing _Zoro_ was the leader…

Fucking hell…

Was he really going to cave and let the curly brow go?

Was he really going that soft? That _one_ guy—who was _maybe_ kind of interesting and fun to banter with, even though he was a thieving bastard from the worst faction out there—could break him?

Not in that moment at least, because, suddenly, the garage door in front of them lifted higher to reveal Nami, who peered in, a hand propped on her hip.

“Hey, Zoro, we got some Gatecrashers out front looking to ‘make amends’ for yesterday?” she mumbled skeptically, hitching a thumb over her shoulder. “Luffy’s out talking to them. You might wanna get your ass over there before anything disastrous happens.”

Instantly, Zoro’s eyes narrowed, and he shared a silent exchange with Franky, who clapped him on the back and pushed him towards the door, Sanji too, by default.

Nami, satisfied that he was following, stepped away from the garage door and set off towards a small ATV waiting for her on the gravel road outside.

She threw a leg over it, revved its small engine, and drove off towards the larger compound of buildings, the pitter patter of tiny rocks displaced by her tires raining down in her wake.

Zoro watched her go for a moment.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence that they dealt with Gatecrashers. They made frequent runs to the city where they were rampant, and he knew they took their residence within old buildings, that their leader, if he could even be called that anymore, lived somewhere in the bowels of the broken city.

But to think a group had traveled all the way out _here?_ To make amends?

It was strange. Clearly, they wanted something, and despite having dealt with the curly brow all night and morning, he felt unsettled, in a way not even Sanji had drawn from him.

Still, ignoring them and sending them away altogether would surely anger Blackbeard, who’d no doubt sent them in response to his and Luffy’s raid the previous day.

There was no way around it. He’d have to confront them.

But that look that had been in Sanji’s eyes, that look that he was already trying to wipe away, almost as if he’d lost control of himself before…. That was something else he would have to confront.

Only when both Nami and Franky were out of earshot did Zoro turn to the blond, stop fully and look him right in the eyes.

“Let me deal with this, Curly. Then we’ll talk, okay?” he said seriously, and despite the nickname, Sanji sensed his sincerity. It was, again, surprising to see, something Sanji was hardly used to these days. Not from his family at least. Such earnestness…

He found he could do little but nod, even feeling a little ashamed of his own odd behavior. He hadn’t known where it had come from, and he hoped it didn’t resurface again...

Zoro nodded too, thankfully not mentioning it more, and tugged him along to follow in Nami’s wake, dust still clouding from her departure, coating the sparse grass.

Neither noticed that Zoro completely forgot to blindfold his prisoner.

* * *

_**East Blue City - Hours earlier** _

* * *

“Gatecrashers” was not a moniker the group that dwelled in the ruins of East Blue’s capital had dubbed themselves. They had no name. They were Blackbeard’s crew and that was all that was necessary to intimidate.

They belonged to no faction. But they didn’t need to, as far as Blackbeard was concerned. He’d been the mayor of East Blue City for a year before there hadn’t been a city to govern, taking over, with a heavy heart, after the untimely death of Edward Newgate, the much-beloved, but unfortunately elderly, previous mayor.

Yes, he’d refused to follow the Government when the chaos started, but that didn’t mean he was going to fall in line with the rest of the desperate fools who’d tried to rebuild their factions after riots and uprisings tore their cities apart.

East Blue City was his, and it would remain so until it was pried from his cold, dead hands, just like he’d done with Whitebear---but no, those circumstances hardly mattered.

His latest term was currently thirteen years unopposed after all, and his popularity had never been higher. Of course, there was no one to vote against him, but that was because the opposition would rather live in slum-like conditions far away....

 _They_ were the Gatecrashers. Those rats in Emerald Peak in particular, who regularly made trips to the city to steal from him.

Blackbeard, or rather, Mayor Teach as he’d once been called, raided for no reason other than to teach lessons, show that opposing him was more trouble than it was worth.

The amount of medicine the Emerald leader and his fellow bandit had stolen from an abandoned pharmacy was small, and it would hardly be missed considering the unknown bulk quantities that were still located in the vaults deep below city hall, courtesy of obsessive hoarding on his part when the Government began to seize it all.

It was a small amount stolen, but it still warranted punishment.

But that supposed punishment would now have to grow, in his eyes, and the reason for that was what the burly Teach stared at now.

One of his carefully guarded warehouses in the former meatpacking district, full of meat stores, now left with nothing but dozens of unconscious guards and ransacked storage rooms, contaminated by a pair of grubby, rubbery hands.

The call had come in shortly after some of his panicked grunts had rushed his office to tell him of the missing medicine, high atop the impressive tower of city hall, after the first of the warehouse guards had finally awoken to shakily alert the others.

It was too late.

Roronoa and that damn gluttonous Monkey of his (because Teach was certain it was that boy, after an incident with some cherry pies a few years back) were long gone, and there was nothing else left to do but stand there, fists clenched, in front of a pilfered freezer, not even the frigid air able to chill his boiling blood.

Whether the kid had actually eaten the meat raw was another question entirely, and one Teach didn’t particularly care about the answer to, even if there’d been another mysterious report of a fire close to the docks, the smell of barbecue lingering in the air…

What mattered was that the two Emerald goons had managed to wreak far more havoc in the city than it had first appeared, and it was infuriating to think that it had all happened right under his round nose.

He was a sight to behold standing there, teeth bared, his dark curly hair a frizzy mess over his shoulders, the buttons of his too-tight shirt straining around his heaving chest, thoughts of a tailor (or whether they still existed) far from his mind.

“Sir, your orders?” said a tall, thin man, Van Augur, a sniper and former councilman skilled at reading both a clear shot and his boss, stepping up beside him in the freezer’s doorway, barely able to fit there beside Teach’s wide, robust frame.

Teach merely growled, bushy eyebrows low over beady eyes as they scanned the shelves of the room, took in every open container, every hanging piece of meat now missing from the hooks lining one wall of the room. His breath puffed small clouds in the cold, like steam from an angry dragon’s nose.

“Sir….?”

Finally, Blackbeard reacted, turning abruptly and shouldering past the man back through the bare concrete hallway, a few flickering fluorescent lights illuminating the way unevenly.

“Call Lafitte,” he grumbled over his shoulder, several other accompanying men scurrying out of the way as he passed, boots echoing in the dank space. “And Doc Q. I want ‘em both out at Emerald by tonight.”

“A raid, sir? With just the two of them?” Augur asked, sounding about as skeptical as he dared in the presence of his often impulsive boss, the lights revealing tired eyes behind his glasses as lanky legs caught up with Teach easily.

“A negotiation,” Blackbeard corrected, shoving open the heavy pair of swinging doors when they reached the end of the hallway, feet crunching onto gravel as they exited the building, the smell of pungent gasoline in the air, most likely leaking from his rickety pick-up truck that still idled near a chainlink fence tangled with tall weeds.

“Let’s try things their way,” he muttered.

After all, once a man of the people, always a man of the people, he was.

“We’ll offer Emerald a proposition, to show them just how charitable I can be,” Blackbeard continued as they neared his truck. “I know that little doctor of theirs is skilled with herbal remedies. But it must have been more serious if they needed medicine. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have risked such a reckless suicide mission. So I’m willing to let them keep it, if they replace the meat they took.”

He slipped a hand through a tear in the clear plastic tarp that covered the busted window on the driver’s side, reaching in to unlatch the door from the inside, bypassing the broken latch on the truck’s exterior.

Blackbeard swung the door open and climbed in, the truck sinking several inches beneath his weight. Even the large vehicle seemed a little smaller with its hefty driver squeezed tightly in the cab.

“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t believe Roronoa will accept,” said Augur calmly, leaning an arm against the open car door, expressionless. “Perhaps---”

“If he doesn’t accept, then we attack,” Blackbeard replied simply, more preoccupied with fiddling with the air vent, which seemed to be blowing uncomfortably hot air from its dented slats when the man got a blast of it to the face.

“I’m afraid I have yet to see the purpose of a vanguard, even if it is those two...” Augur mused, mind drifting to the unlikely pair of henchmen.

Blackbeard made a noise of frustration, drew back a fist and punched the vent, hopelessly mangling it further to the point where it blew no air at all.

“It’ll be a break from the monotony,” he grunted. “Besides, Lafitte can observe the layout of the place; Q can pull his pathetic act, make ‘em feel bad. They can get the work started for us. I think I’d like to get rid of Emerald for good this time.”

That last bit had a smirk coming to his face, the first flash of yellow teeth cracking beneath his bushy beard.

Without warning, he reached out to pull his car door shut, Augur backing up so as not to get fingers crushed.

“I’ll alert them, but where will you go?” Augur asked before he could drive away, knowing Blackbeard could still hear him, even over the purr of the engine.

“To suit up,” answered the man, revving the engine before tires crackled over the gravel, rocks pinging off the metal of the fence as he pulled away from the warehouse.

The day was bright, but his chuckle to himself was entirely dark, imagining the sweet revenge he’d be tasting before the night was up.

A mass of clouds slid their way over the sun as he drove back towards the city.

* * *

**_Emerald Peak Faction - Now_ **

* * *

_“Roronoa.”_

Zoro studied the man's grin suspiciously, saying nothing as he approached the group of men, Luffy amongst them, outside of Emerald’s gates where a beat-up white SUV was parked among the weeds, the word ‘Stronger’ crudely spray-painted along the side. In its prime, the thing no doubt packed a lot of horsepower, but now looked hardly capable of making it a mile.

Sanji allowed himself be tugged along forcefully, not calling Zoro out on it, knowing it was best to stay quiet given the situation. He glanced at the mosshead, noting his change in form. He now looked determined and serious, when not long ago this very man had been blushing madly from Franky’s teasing.

 _“Lafitte,”_ Zoro bit out.

Sanji knew this man, along with the other beside him, Doc Q. Everybody did.

They were Blackbeard’s closest cronies after all, both having killed just as many innocent civilians and faction soldiers as their fearsome leader, a fact that may have been surprising given their appearances.

Lafitte was a pale man, his purple lipstick and wide eyes the only thing giving his blank face personality. He was often seen wearing a collared shirt decorated with crosses and a top hat over his head, a formal facade complete with a cane.

Doc Q was a much dirtier-looking man, his long gray hair hanging loosely over his shoulders, facial hair making him seem as though he hadn’t shaved in ages, unsurprising given the times. But it was the two tattoos drawn over his eyelids that largely contributed to his rough demeanor.

Wherever they went, they both held the same irritating confidence, despite Doc Q looking ready to keel over at any moment. They enjoyed the fact that those very civilians had quivered before them, intimidated.

And yet, as Sanji once again glanced at Emerald Peak’s leader beside him, glowering just as confidently at the two, he noted, with a smug sort of satisfaction, that Zoro was anything _but_ intimidated.

“Why are you here?” Zoro asked.

“Well,” Lafitte said smoothly. “We heard you and _Straw Hat_ here took a load of _our_ medicine, and we’d like to know if you’d be willing to talk about a... negotiation. Of course, this precedes the mention of the stolen meat stores as well.”

The man pointed his cane towards Luffy, then dropped it to his side, where he gripped its handle, notably tighter than necessary.

Zoro had expected Blackbeard to be furious with him after discovering some of his precious medicine had been stolen. He even expected a raid to get thrown Emerald’s way, was even prepared for it. But what the hell was this?

“We didn’t steal any meat,” Zoro said levelly.

“Yeah, I did,” Luffy piped up beside him, raising his hand casually. “I wanted a snack.”

Zoro resisted the urge to cringe visibly.

“Oh,” he muttered instead. _“Dammit,_ Luffy.”

Luffy merely shrugged.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Zoro shot back under his breath, ignoring the blinding grin on his friend’s face that flashed in the corner of his eye and the pleased reply of, “Nope!”

Zoro scowled, shook his head, and focused his attention on Lafitte once more.

Blackbeard, that bastard, always raided factions out of spite. He knew he didn’t have to, but Blackbeard’s ego was so incredibly big that in order to prove just how powerful he was, he had to kill the innocent to do it.

What Zoro hadn’t expected, however, was for two of Blackbeard’s associates to arrive here, offering him a _negotiation._

And yet....

“What _type_ of negotiation?” Zoro questioned warily a few seconds later, his interest admittedly quirking as he crossed his arms over his chest, tugging Sanji’s left arm painfully in the process, much to the blond’s annoyance.

“Let’s speak in a more private location, hm? If you don’t mind.”

Lafitte smiled wickedly, glad the man had changed his mind, and glanced over Zoro’s shoulder at Emerald’s wide-open gate.

“Yes, yes. I’ll freeze to death if I stay here any longer,” Q said beside him, voice raspy and weak, as if he really was on the verge of death.

Zoro frowned, then looked behind him, spotting the growing crowd his people had formed as they tried to peek and see just who their Leader was talking to, some even trying to listen in. Bringing an enemy into their faction was a rather great risk, he knew, but if anything, he and Luffy would take them down instantly if they were to pose a threat.

Turning around, he nodded towards Luffy and held his arm out, signaling the men to proceed and follow him, completely unaware of the amused exchange shared between Blackbeard’s two lackies.

* * *

Their boots crunching softly against the rubbled ground filled the almost deafening silence of the courtyard as the five men walked through, eventually arriving at the entrance of the watchtower.

The two men guarding the metal doors, one on each side, nodded towards Zoro and opened them, leading them inside.

The watchtower was frequently used for planning raids, Franky arranging the inside to resemble a conference room, a rectangular table placed in the middle, used to spread out maps or blueprints. While the borders of each wall held technological equipment, buttons used to activate small missiles from narrow alcoves in the side of the tower, sound the intruder alarm, and other such tasks, if necessary.

Of course, the system, left over from the settlement’s days as a military camp, was rather antiquated now, but they maintained it as best they could, sometimes resorting to using whatever scrap metal they could find as projectiles.

Few people were allowed in the watchtower, only those sufficient enough to actually risk their lives to join Zoro and the others in combat.

Usopp was the only one almost always up there, usually alone, which was why, as the group made it to the top room, the long-nosed man jumped an estimated foot in the air in surprise. He landed back on the ground, his right hand positioned firmly on his forehead while the other stationed itself behind his back.

“Zoro,” he said sternly, though the shakiness in his voice was clearly present.

The leader shook his head lightly, small smile on his face, already used to his antics.

“It’s okay, Usopp. We’re gonna talk in here, alright?”

Body relaxing, Usopp’s demeanor changed into a more serious one, as he quickly pressed a green button on one of the control panels, turning on the motion sensors surrounding the outside of the building, the autopilot of the watchtower.

That done, he made his way to the door, while using all of his power to avoid making eye contact with Lafitte and Doc Q, then exited the room with the soft click of the lock to follow.

“What type of _negotiation?”_ Zoro repeated, getting straight to the point, as he stood by the middle of the table, Sanji on his right side, Luffy towards his left.

“Our Leader wasn’t quite pleased when he heard the news that you invaded our territory and stole from our medicine supply. The stolen meat pushed him over the edge. _But,_ he was willing to make a compromise,” Lafitte said. "That being, in exchange for what you've taken, provide _us_ some food.”

Zoro’s brow rose in suspicion, and he glanced towards Luffy to see that his friend held the same expression, irritating as fuck considering the idiot had instigated a large part of this.

He hadn’t expected a compromise from Blackbeard in the first place, and now actually hearing what it _was_ had Zoro wondering if they thought he was an idiot.

“We took four containers. For children,” he deadpanned, ignoring the meat crisis to focus on what was important.

“And you think we don’t have children in our ranks? That medicine could have gone to them,” Lafitte said in a sickeningly sweet voice, as he grinned once more.

“Or to me,” Q cut in, lifting a shaky finger.

Was this man serious?

Zoro couldn’t help but let out a scoff, not even trying to hide it.

“Oh no, you’re right. Blackbeard, _a murderer,_ has kids prancing around his turf,” he said sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest again, but this time in slight agitation above anything else.

“The children here were sick and they needed medicine,” he continued as he stepped forward, knocking his fist lightly on the table. “I wasn’t going to just stand around and watch them _die._ I’m willing to risk anything for my people, even if I have to go and ransack your boss’ hellhole. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again.”

Lafitte and Doc Q looked a bit fazed after such a low blow at Blackbeard, but still maintained their composure.

“I’m not fucking stupid,” Zoro bit out. “I know you don’t need foo—”

He was cut off by the strongest tug on his right arm, pulling him until he was face to face with his forgotten prisoner, who glared at him menacingly, pure anger radiating off him.

“Don’t you tell _anyone_ they don’t need food while you’re in my presence, you jackass,” the blond bit out as he shoved Zoro back.

Clearly caught by surprise, almost forgetting Sanji was still there, despite being handcuffed to him, Zoro only held his state of confusion for a few seconds before annoyance took over and he glared just as heatedly in return.

_“What’re you doing, you idiot? Stay out of this.”_

“I can’t stay out of this! You can’t just fucking deny someone food when they need it—!”

“This has nothing to do with you! Shut up, or I won’t even consider giving _your_ faction any,” Zoro threatened, with a finger pointed sharply towards the man, almost as if confirming his promise.

Instantly, he regretted the outburst though, knowing how it must sound to the two Gatecrashers in their presence. If Zoro was considerate enough to work with other factions, then surely it would be no problem for him to negotiate with Blackbeard.

Except it was. It was a big problem. Blackbeard, as far as Zoro was concerned, had dangerously selfish intentions.

Sanji too bit his tongue, stopping himself from saying anything else that might jeopardize his ticket out of here and getting food back to Obsidian Shadow.

 _“Fine,”_ he grunted and moved away from Zoro, seething as he looked away from the group, almost childlike.

He wanted nothing more than a cigarette, and the thought that he still had to suck up to this idiot in order to get his back only riled him up even more.

Ignoring the blond, Zoro turned towards Luffy and gave him a stern and small nod.

Luffy nodded too and stepped forward beside Zoro, as if the dispute his leader and his prisoner just shared never happened.

“Look. We stole only four thingies. And you guys had steak. It was real good too,” Luffy affirmed seriously. “But you guys have lots of food and medicine, and we needed it more. So Blackbeard shouldn’t be mad.”

Despite being an overly excited and energetic man most of the time, when it came to serious business like this, Luffy knew what he had to do, even if his methods were a bit unorthodox.

“Tell Teach we don’t agree,” Zoro dismissed, ending the discussion then and there.

The two Gatecrashers exchanged looks, small grins plastered on their faces despite the insolence Zoro had displayed towards their leader, using his old name with clear sarcasm.

“Right. This won’t be an issue. We were merely giving a suggestion,” Lafitte assured, once again assuming his calm demeanor automatically. “Well, I suppose we’ll be on our way.”

Luffy instantly moved to follow him, giving Zoro a glance that read for him to stay, knowing he had to deal with a certain prisoner.

“You can stay, Zoro. I’ll lead them out,” he said.

Zoro only grunted as he brought his left hand to his temple and rubbed slightly, his thoughts all over the place.

Dealing with this shit hurt his brain, not that he would admit that to anyone, and especially not idiot thieves who ran their mouth at the worst times.

“Are you stupid?” he asked Sanji, as soon as the men left.

He turned his head to look at the blond, who was looking away from him but immediately faced the green-haired man as he processed the question.

“Excuse me?”

“I asked if you were stupid, because even a fucking _monkey_ could tell that negotiation was complete bullshit.”

“How would you know!” Sanji barked. “What if they did need food, huh? You greedy bastard!”

Zoro let out a mean chuckle at that, catching Sanji off-guard.

“You really are an idiot. Teach has loads of stuff that all of us don’t have,” he said, wondering if he was going to have to keep explaining the obvious to this oblivious guy. “He doesn’t need to raid other factions for food and medicine like we have to, to survive. Do you know how much emergency shit the Government buried in that city? In case of nuclear wars and shit. The bastard has it all. He was the _mayor._ Don’t you know that?”

Zoro laughed bitterly as he shook his head because everyone knew that. Across all factions.

However, when he heard no confirmation, he looked up at Sanji, his sarcastic smile dropping into a confused frown when he saw that the blond was glowering at his shoes, a slight flush on his face.

“You did…know that, right?” Zoro hesitated.

“Shut up!” Sanji blurted out immediately. “I knew that!”

Zoro’s brow furrowed deeply, lips turning down into a frown.

* * *

**_Obsidian Shadow Faction_ **

* * *

When the curtain of twilight fell over the sky, the people of Obsidian Shadow settled in the courtyard beneath a blanket of stars, their breath more visible in the crisp air than their meager meals.

There was a heaviness felt by the lightness of their plates and the disappointingly lackluster service they received in the continuing absence of Sanji.

Increasingly concerned mutterings, inquiries about his health….all of it served to grate on Zeff’s ears, enhance what was already far too much worry pulling and twisting at his chest, drawing his gut as tight as their food stores.

He’d left the serving to Patty and Carne, descended to the dark kitchen to brood alone, where no one could see the tremors in his aging weathered hands and no one could hear his constant uneven pacing.

It certainly didn’t reach the upper floor of the fort, where Judge Vinsmoke again dined with only four of his five children. The only indication that he’d even noticed the extra place setting was the hard glare he gave Yonji when his son gleefully kicked the empty chair, sending it clattering into the table loudly.

Niji had laughed spitefully with him, Ichiji responding with an amused smirk.

Reiju sat quietly beside her father through the whole dinner, trying to ignore the fact that the rice she picked at was barely quelling the dull hunger in her stomach, the small amount of chicken obviously from a can, not fresh.

Her brothers complained, her father grumbling about how they should have more, being the Leader and his family.

Their living conditions aside, things had been different when they’d had Mother.

They’d been happy, a real family, and though her three brothers were always loud and active, more so than Sanji, they hadn’t shown him the same horrible disdain and belittling they now tormented him with.

It was their father’s fault, she knew. Following their mother’s death….he hadn’t wanted to look at the little blond reminder of what they’d had, nothing but a tiny fraction of Sora’s warmth and love. Not the real thing.

Her brothers had been young. They’d actually believed there was something to hate about Sanji….

She finished her dinner in silence, then abruptly asked her father to be excused.

It wasn’t unlike her to retreat to her room, preferring to spend time alone rather than with her brothers, so there wasn’t much incident when she left the room.

Of course, her intent was not to disappear for the night when she left for her quarters. She merely entered the room and emerged a minute later wearing an old blue peacoat of her mother’s, warm and fashionably oversized, perfect for carrying and concealing the pistol, knife, and two vials of arsenic she’d slipped into the inner pockets.

By the time she made her way down the cold stairs to the kitchen, she opened the rickety door to find Zeff alone, ignoring the dirty dishes piled in a crate beside the wide metal sinks.

He was alone, but dressed in a heavy coat of his own, the fabric worn and torn in places, the butt of a gun sticking out from one of the pockets as he pulled on a pair of black gloves that were equally tattered.

He looked up, a little surprised to see the woman standing in the doorway. He’d wondered if she’d actually show up. But there was ferocity and determination in her gaze.

Zeff said nothing, merely grunted and gestured for her to follow him out the door.

* * *

Being who they were, no one questioned their exit through the front gates, even if the two of them together were a bit of an odd pair, both of them rarely interacting in day to day life.

They made it past the guards, three men standing outside the gates to the fort with visible firearms, dressed in black and trying to hide their shivering in the cool evening air, no doubt quietly put in place by Judge after Sanji’s little escape.

One stood closer to the small metal shed by the overgrown parking lot, keeping watch over the structure that held the keys to Judge’s small army of vehicles. No one was allowed to take them without Judge’s permission, and it was incredibly rare he granted such permission to ordinary civilians.

But Zeff was no ordinary civilian, and neither was Reiju. Thus, the guard stepped aside immediately after Zeff came into view, the old man reaching into his coat pocket to retrieve a small ring full of several keys, one of which slid perfectly into the heavy lock on the shed door.

Reiju waited outside in silence, ignoring the guard’s questioning eyes on her, most likely wondering what she, out of all the Vinsmokes, was doing accompanying her father’s right-hand man. Normally, she preferred not to involve herself in the faction’s affairs, at least not as prominently as her brothers.

Zeff emerged a minute later with a set of car keys and a nod to the guard, brushing past Reiju after locking the door.

She followed his limping form across the cracked pavement to a large boxy Hummer, one of their best cars, good for adverse weather and practically a tank in its own right.

In the dark, it almost looked impressive, black paint like a sleek cloak in the night, tires big enough to crush most anything in their path.

But what the spotlight revealed when it ran its sweep over the grounds was a glimpse of chipped paint, exposed rust and dents that they couldn’t repair, tires that were large, but overused. It was a testament to where time and technology had stood still for their world, advancing no further and left to crumble and deteriorate right where it was when they’d lost everything.

The key’s unlock button no longer working, Zeff manually unlocked the driver’s side and climbed up several feet to slide into the high seat, unlocking the passenger door once he was inside.

Reiju too got into the car, settling herself onto the yellow spots of exposed foam in the seat, standing out nearly as much as the stars in the night sky against the badly torn black leather.

The car roared to life when Zeff started it, the empty static of the radio blaring for a moment until Zeff turned it off. It wasn’t as if there were any radio stations left to listen to anyway.

There was, thus, silence in the car as they drove out of the compound and onto the wooded road beyond.

They’d driven for a few minutes, Zeff turning towards the mountains when they reached the first crossroads, before Reiju asked, “Where are we going? You seem to have a course in mind.”

Zeff replied with an affirmative grunt.

“The hunting rifles were still in the shed,” he explained. “And he took a bike. He wasn’t going into the woods.”

Reiju looked out the window at the passing trees, the black void weaving between the tall shapes swallowing them up.

It was probably true. If Sanji had gone hunting, he would most likely have been back already. But instead, he’d been gone an entire night and day. This was no ordinary trip.

“You don’t think he went into the city?” she asked, but Zeff shook his head, wringing hands on the steering wheel.

“That takes a few hours at most. And he wouldn’t know where to start there. You know he wasn’t thinking straight, which means he went to the closest place---”

“You think he went to Emerald?!” Reiju interrupted. “There’s no way in hell he’d be able to negotiate with them! He knows that! They’d sooner let us starve to death before giving us anything!”

Zeff was quiet, but his silence was judgmental, hearing her father’s exact words spouted out mindlessly.

He knew better. He knew Judge’s paranoia and need for power, to the point of isolating his own faction from the rest of the broken world, wasn’t normal. He knew other factions traded, cooperated with each other, allied in times of need.

And he also acknowledged, at least to himself, that he’d made the wrong choice following Judge, thinking that, just because he had the most money, he’d be able to provide the best living conditions.

But Judge’s character had changed entirely after the death of his wife, and now, he would rather his followers struggle alone than let anyone else in or out.

There was a lot Judge’s children didn’t know, even Sanji. There was only so much Zeff could tell the boy about how the world really was without risking his very life and what little favor he held with Judge.

“The fault for that lies with your father,” Zeff finally replied, prompting Reiju to turn and face him, her visible eyebrow raising.

“What do you mean?” she asked, but Zeff didn’t answer, just fell into silence once more, bushy brows furrowed over eyes fixed on the shadowy road ahead.

Reiju tried not to let the frustration well within her, the frustration that Zeff would talk to Sanji but not her. She’d never had any desire to be close to the man before. She didn’t know anything about him, hardly, besides his history with her father.

But the fact remained that Sanji had someone to talk to. Even as much as her father and brothers tortured him, he still had Zeff, who’d protected the boy countless times, seemed to understand and support him.

She, meanwhile, didn’t feel comfortable with anyone, she thought as she too turned her gaze back to the road, and she hadn’t since she’d lost her mother.

And maybe it was a little lonely….if she fixated on it too much.

“I know my father isn’t a good person,” she muttered a minute later, unsure why. “Or rather, not anymore. But is anyone these days?”

A few moments passed before Zeff replied, “Perhaps not. But that’s something for you to decide yourself.”

She nearly scoffed.

As if there was any way for her to decide. She knew almost nothing anymore beyond Obsidian’s walls.

She remembered, vaguely, a world in her childhood that hadn’t been cutthroat.

But it had been a sorrowful world, a world in which bad things happened to even the best people, and honestly, what was even the _point_ of being a certain way if one’s actions didn’t matter in the long run.

Death didn’t discriminate.

“Did you pity my brother?” she found herself asking the man. “Is that why you took him under your wing?”

Surely, he had. There was no other explanation for why he’d become so attached to Sanji.

But Zeff surprised her when he answered, “There are others I pity more,” his words vague but heavy.

She frowned, unsure of what to think beyond her father’s constant disapproval for Zeff and Sanji’s relationship, the fact that, as the years had gone on, he’d expressed his upset more and more.

Sanji didn’t love him as his other children did. Sanji no longer thought of him as his true father.

But as their mother’s death faded in their family’s memory over the years….perhaps, Reiju wondered, their father wasn’t aware of how much he missed and desired the love he’d lost...and how much pushing away what was left had robbed him of his happiness....

“If they’ve captured him, what’s the plan?” Reiju asked, and though she caught Zeff’s shrug out of the corner of her eye, she also caught that deep frown that drew concerned wrinkles around his mouth.

“We make sure he’s not dead,” the man said. “The rest will happen as it happens.”

She snorted. “That’s hardly a plan.”

“Did you have a better one, girl?”

She opened her mouth for a moment, but then closed it.

“I suppose not…” she admitted.

Just as quickly, Zeff’s frown tilted into a wry smirk, which Reiju noticed when he let out an amused breath through his nose, prompting her to look over.

“Is something funny?” she insisted, annoyance nagging at her once again when he didn’t reply, his pauses growing more and more irritating the more the conversation dragged on.

She huffed, shaking her head.

“Stupidity and recklessness will get you nowhere,” Reiju said haughtily, because as far as she knew, she was right. “You’ve followed my father’s orders in the past. You know the importance of a well-executed plan.”

“And yet you came with me,” he shot back, and just like that, she was at a loss again, not liking that knowing tone to his voice, as if he knew what she was thinking when she, admittedly, didn’t even know herself.

“This is….different,” she eventually replied quietly, knowing that she hadn’t come out of foolishness, but some sort of desire to…..again, she didn’t know what.

Was it that difficult to admit that Sanji’s fate mattered to her? Was it so hard to live with the burden that, while she’d remained passive for so many years, she didn’t resent him as her brothers and father had come to?

Zeff’s smirk grew, though this time, she didn’t look over to see it, eyes stubbornly fixed on the treeline once again.

“There’s more of your mother in there than I thought.”

Reiju felt her chest clench hard, something that hadn’t happened for many years, not since she was still young and the loss of her mother and the life she’d once led was still fresh and confusing.

When she’d grieved alone without knowing she was grieving...

But despite that, Zeff’s words….

They felt just a little good.

* * *

**_Emerald Peak Faction_ **

* * *

Never in his life at Obsidian Shadow had Sanji seen this.

Back home, the civilians of his faction hardly interacted. The courtyard, the fields, the cafeteria, almost everywhere was empty because virtually everyone preferred being cooped up in their huts.

The reason why was simple. Sanji’s father.

Sanji knew the bastard did nothing for them. The only thing Judge was good for was constantly bringing in weapons, and they proved to be completely useless. He would sooner let his followers die of an illness or starvation than cease his habit of collecting various weaponry.

No one liked Judge or Sanji’s three brothers. They were merciless and Sanji resented them for it. Reiju wasn’t included in this resentment because, while she may have followed their father and his orders, she wasn’t heartless. Sanji cared for her, the only one he was able to tolerate out of all of his siblings.

At Obsidian, Sanji would watch when, as soon as he handed someone their meal, the person would give him a grateful smile then turn and walk straight to their hut, passing the cafeteria dining tables as if they didn’t exist at all.

He expected the other factions be in a slightly better social condition. Just slightly. But not like this. _Definitely not like this._

The remaining hour of sunlight had passed following a quietly agitated Zoro around the camp, ultimately watching as the brute obsessively insisted on a round of target practice, shooting at a pyramid of old cans out behind the garage they’d visited earlier. His shot was on point, his gaze stoic as his grip formed naturally around the butt of a rather beautiful white pistol.

Sanji’s father would have set his eyes on that piece surely.

But Sanji’s eyes had watched Zoro’s face, watched the clench of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes….the way he breathed, almost meditative, each time he took a shot.

He hid it well, but it was obvious the events of the day had affected him, maybe even confused him, which wouldn’t be surprising considering how small the mosshead’s brain was proving to be.

Yet it was somehow affecting Sanji, this man’s dedication to his people, his _friends,_ and the fierce protectiveness that seemed to be ingrained in his very nature.

Was it really okay? Was it okay, in this world, to let oneself go? To love and trust as maybe the world used to….?

The two of them didn’t talk, and yet the thought stuck with Sanji right up until Zoro dragged him into the dining area of Emerald.

The first thing Sanji was greeted with were the booming voices of its civilians. He stopped in his tracks when he saw how wild the room was now, compared to earlier.

The room was practically filled, laughter sounding from almost every corner. People were standing on tables, some singing.

Hearing the melodic harmony of a piano, he searched for it and spotted a tall old man with an afro and top hat playing one towards the back. He appeared to be the lead singer, singing a song Sanji recognized as a popular tune, “Bink’s Sake.”

Difficult to miss, he saw the same man from earlier—Franky, as he remembered—also on top of a table, along with a younger man (perhaps a teenager) with curly brown hair, their arms connected over their heads, elbows locked together as they yelled, “Super!”

Beside their table sat a dark-haired beauty with her chin in her palm as she laughed at the charade of the two.

The coward from that morning, Usopp, was also nearby as he and another civilian linked arms, swinging each other in a circle, laughing all the while.

And, from the meeting he was forced to attend, he saw Luffy, grossly eating some meat, ridiculous considering he’d apparently eaten his fill in the city, a huge smile on his face as he did so.

Sanji couldn’t move. He was utterly _shocked_ by what he was seeing.

Regaining his senses, he turned to gawk at his moss-headed captor, who only looked at him with the biggest shit-eating grin he had ever seen, a sudden surprise considering how serious he’d been just a short while earlier.

Was this normal?

“C’mon.”

He was dragged to a table where he sat down, Zoro to his left.

“Don’t ask, Question,” Zoro muttered. “This is just how Emerald is.”

Not completely hearing the insult, he continued to stare mindlessly, baffled and confused. _This was how it was?_

His faction was practically dead most of the time. He had never experienced this type of behavior. And given the circumstances of their society, he assumed the social gathering of people like this was completely gone. Many had suffered the loss of friends and family all those years ago, and this changed those people.

No one had the heart or the energy anymore to celebrate. For those people, there was no point. Who would want to anyway? Living in such terrible conditions killed that for them.

They were surviving, but they weren’t really _living._

Losing his mother at such a young age, and spending his life with a family — if he could even call them that — that spent their lives killing and collecting unnecessary armament… This completely changed Sanji, and not for the better.

He had lost all hope of ever regaining a connection with them, and that hope had been gone for a long time. Under the care of Zeff, Patty, and Carne, he at least had a small amount of happiness. Zeff was able to grant him that, along with the knowledge of cooking.

Judge wasn’t his father. Zeff was.

Judge was the Leader of Obsidian Shadow. Zeff wasn’t.

And this made him wonder exactly what type of Leader Zoro Roronoa was.

“Oi! Question! Snap out of it!”

The blurry image of a hand waving in front of his face pulled him out of his thoughts, Sanji blinking to see the ugly mug of that very Leader, staring at him in confusion. Fuck, he was really losing his mind today and this damn faction was at fault for that.

It took about five seconds before he finally processed the insult shot at him for the second time.

 _“Question!?_ Why I oughta—!”

“Hey, you guys are back!”

Nami laughed as she appeared before them, food for them already in hand, cooked meat and rice with potatoes and carrots, topped with a rich-looking sauce.

“Ah, Nami, darling!” Sanji screeched, his arms flailing in the air like noodles, Zoro’s right arm going up with them, forcing the man to punch the blond in the arm to sit him back down.

“You idiot!” Zoro yelled as he rolled his strained shoulder in circles.

“How’d the meeting with Blackbeard’s goons go?” Nami asked Zoro, ignoring Sanji and instead placing the plates in front of them.

“Okay, I guess. Their ‘negotiation’ was jack shit, so I refused. Found out Luffy had a damn feast for himself while we were there, to make matters worse,” Zoro replied, shrugging before wasting no time digging into his food.

“And this surprised you? You should really keep better tabs on him when you go out there,” Nami muttered drily. “Anyway, I thought it seemed odd he’d send them. He never has before.” Her finger tapped lightly against her chin.

 _So cute,_ Sanji thought as he swooned internally, listening to the exchange.

“Oi! Luffy, you’re making a mess! Quit fooling around over there or I’ll pummel you! You hear me!?” Nami suddenly yelled over Sanji’s shoulder, swinging her clenched fist at the approaching man threateningly.

Sanji paled, watching her aura completely change in a split second, from an adorable beauty to a terrifying monster. Her eyes were so intense they looked almost red, as if flames could surround her any second, her grip on the waiting tray almost deadly.

Nami said nothing more as she stomped away, grumbling curses under her breath as she did so.

Shaking his head a little, Sanji faced forward again and, guiltily, also raised his fork.

But as soon as he did, that earlier feeling came to mind, seeing that food on his plate...that moment in the garage when he’d panicked.

He stopped, his fork just barely touching a piece of meat before he set it down.

“Hey, mosshead,” he murmured to Zoro, looking a little shaken at the memory, and also unsure why he felt the urge to discuss it. It wasn’t like this idiot would even listen to him properly. But dammit, maybe….maybe it would feel good to acknowledge, out in the open, every surprising thing he was experiencing here…

“Can we go and talk somewhere…?” Sanji asked quietly.

Zoro stopped chewing and swallowed, turning to look at the blond, quirking a brow.

“Talk...?” he shot back, sounding confused.

Sanji sighed. Of course the fool wouldn’t understand.

He took another look at his plate, so full when he remembered clearly the empty space on his own people’s.

That heavy guilt filled his chest again.

He sighed, wishing he didn’t have to admit it.

“I can’t stay here,” he mumbled. He wanted to eat. He wanted to desperately. But how could he…?

“I _have_ to go.”

Zoro stared at him, and though it took him a few moments, a look came over his features, one that told he’d come to the realization of what Sanji meant.

He needed to _go._ Back to Obsidian Shadow.

A sudden guilt assaulted him as well. He’d been keeping Sanji prisoner here, and why? Selfishly? To assert power? To punish?

Was he any better than Blackbeard…?

Zoro continued to stare with hesitance...until finally, he sighed.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Just let me—”

The piercing noise of an alarm cut Zoro off mid-sentence, his eyes going incredibly wide as he swiftly shot up, abandoning his meal and their discussion completely.

Everyone in the room stopped moving, the non-combatant men, women, and children quickly huddling together, while the practiced soldiers from Emerald immediately freed their concealed weapons.

Instantly, Zoro’s mind switched into battle mode, sparked by the slightest hint of violence.

He knew what was happening.

They were being raided.

And no, Zoro thought in answer to his own question, as he immediately pulled his pistol from his vest, eyes scanning the room with murderous intent.

Perhaps he and Blackbeard had more in common than he thought.

* * *

The road to Emerald Peak was predictably lonely in its emptiness. Even with the last glimpses of purple sky flitting through the surrounding forests, it was dark and it was far too quiet once Zeff and Reiju’s conversation ceased.

Reiju watched the treeline, looking, rather foolishly, for any sign of her brother, or at least of his bike, some _clue_ that he was out there and not lost to the elements or harmed by other humans, who were far more sinister than nature, made so by years of learning to live with very little.

The heat in the car would only blow on the lowest strength, thus the temperature began to drop right along with the sun, and she buried hands in the deep pockets of her mother’s coat for warmth.

Reiju remembered doing so for the first time since her mother’s death, sliding her nose against the collar and her hands into the pockets, only to come up with a delicate silver watch, forgotten by her mother.

It made sense. Her mother would come home from work, shrug off her coat and immediately roll up sleeves, slipping the jewelry off her hands to start getting busy in the kitchen for whatever delicious meal their family would share that evening.

Sanji would help her, and her other three brothers would poke around curiously, asking if they could cut stuff while Reiju sat nearby at the table with her homework.

Even their father would join them, laughing and insisting he could design a more efficient knife that could chop multiple carrots simultaneously.

Those days, before their mother fell ill, before their whole _world_ fell ill, had been content and warm.

Now there was nothing but the chill of the satin that lined those empty pockets.

They drove for a while, for longer than Reiju had ever gone in that direction over the mountains, and she realized how truly isolated they were, if the closest faction was hardly a quick trip away.

That was probably how her father liked it though. He would rather be isolated, living in his own protective bubble, than face just how broken the rest of the world was.

Still, when they crested a particularly steep slope, the view in the valley below was hardly what she expected.

Lights twinkled below, illuminating at least the outskirts of what looked like a large camp.

Reiju could just make out a few long buildings that seemed to also have lights within, while the smaller structures peppered in the fields beyond were dark.

A tall watchtower rose several stories above the front of the camp, and it was almost odd to see how similar it looked to Obsidian, at least in the night.

It was a reminder, certainly, that with the demise of their major cities and towns, everyone left was in the same plight, hardly thriving in meager living conditions.

In fact, the camp cruising closer as their car descended down the winding slope of the road seemed even more similar to Obsidian when she noticed the red of flashing alarm lights, the sweep of a spotlight illuminating a dozen or so haphazardly parked cars outside the front gates….the scurry of bodies rushing into the camp….

And then there was the unmistakable sound of gunfire.

“What the hell’s going on down there?!” Reiju cried, lurching forward in her seat to try and see better.

Zeff didn’t say a word, the only evidence that he’d noticed at all the slight wringing of his hands around the steering wheel. He turned down the Hummer’s headlights.

They could keep driving, both of them knew this. If it was a raid of some sort, it was none of their business. It wasn’t their faction. They knew no one down there….

But both of them also knew that they couldn’t be certain of this. Not while Sanji was missing.

A long moment of silence, Reiju with her eyes fixed on the chaos slowly being obscured by trees as they neared the bottom of the mountain and the road that would turn towards the camp.

Zeff slowed down, nearly to a stop, at the crossroads, turned to look at Reiju.

She let out a heavy begrudging sigh.

Then she slipped her hand into her coat to pull out her pistol.

“If he’s not in there, I’m gonna kill him,” she muttered as she cocked it.

_TBC…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This fic is currently on hiatus. However, we'll be back to work on it as soon as we both can! Thanks again, and we appreciate your patience!
> 
> Leo & Charlie ^-^


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